Misery
by taemintie
Summary: Harleen Quinzel was a great psychiatrist, no doubt about it. Then the Joker appeared changing how she saw the world completely. He made her life living hell, but at the same time he saved her.
1. Chapter 1

Harley Frances Quinzel was content.

After all the years of hard work and effort she'd finally got a internship in the Arkham Asylum for criminally insane. She even got her own office. It was a bit smaller and cramped than ususal, but it belonged to her. She smiled once again and got comfotrable in the leather chair by a mahogany desk. John Myers' case file was laying in front of her along with her notes, but Harleen was looking at the window. Raindrops were hitting the glass calming the girl's mind.

It was late. Quinzel was probably the last doctor at Arkham at that hour. Everyone else had gone home to be with their families. Harleen sighed, involuntarily fixed the glasses on her nose and looked at the files again.

Myers was an interesting case. Almost-to-be murderer caught red handed by his victim's mother. Marie Irons had been cut on her neck, stomach and thighs with a pocket knife before falling unconscious. John was found crying maniacally next to the girl. When asked why he did it, he answered, "She had to change."

He wasn't too interested in the fact that the girl he'd hurt will be fucked up for the rest of her life. She was placed in a private clinic outside the city.

The strange thing was that he never got in trouble with police prior to his incident. He was a perfect citizen, paying taxes, staying in shadows. Harleen could not find anything leading to domestic violence. John's mind was a puzzle and it was annoying the intern very much.

His face alwyas stayed the same. Bored, extremely bored. He did not speak much, was answering questions briefly with no emotions. Harleen thought it was because of meds he was taking, but she was told Myers' prescriptions had been revoked.

"Revoked? Why?" she asked.

"He doesn't need 'em," nurse replied, shrugging.

Quinzel had so many questions in her head. During sessions she had to sit quiet and stare as doctor Leland kept trying to squeeze out at least a few sentences out of Myers. Harleen wanted to talk to him.

"No way, girl!" Leland refused.

"One session, Joan! I feel I could do some good!"

"I can't allow that."

"I'll be fine," Quinzel objected. "There will be guards behind the door and I'll have the panic button next to me. I just want to talk with him."

Joan Leland grimaced and said, "I'll see what I can do."

Couple days later Harleen was proudly walking down the corridor in Arkham to an appointed room where she could finally get some work done with John. In the room there was a table with two chairs. Faint light was giving that place a slight yellow glow. Harleen placed her notebook on table top and sat down. She fixed her dark skirt and pushed a golden curl behind her ear. She was very excited.

When Myers was sat down wearing a straitjacket she sent him a small smile. The man did not react while one of the guards gave her a weird look. The girl exhaled focusing on the patient and completely ignored cameras or guards.

"Hello. I am doctor Harleen Quinzel," she introduced herself lightly. "I'll be your therapist from now on, mister Myers."

The man was still looking at her with a bored expression. The intern opened her notebook, took a pen and asked, "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

"Not really."

"No? Well, I was thinking maybe we should we to know each other better."

Myers sneered. "Everything about me is in these papers."

Harleen shook her head smiling again.

"Not everything." He looked at her while squinting. "There's nothing about your favourite colour, hobbies, music you like the most."

"What does it matter?"

"It matters a lot, mister Myers." She noted 'stubborn'. "I won't be able to help you, if you don't talk."

Distaste appeared on Myers' face. He leaned back on his chair and glanced at a small window on the right. Quinzel scribbled 'reserved'. He saw that and wrinkled his nose. The girl breathed quietly. 'Observant'.

"I heard you've been off your medication for a while now," Harleen tried with a diffrent approach. "And I don't think you're a madman. I'd like to know what happened, what made you hurt that girl..."

Suddenly Myers rose up making the table jump. On his usual bored face appeared anger. He was breathing heavily and his arms looked as if they could emerge from the restrains. Harleen pressed the button immediately. She stood up with a violently beating heart. Two guards entered the room tackling John Myers to the ground.

"Stop!" Quinzel screamed.

Leland appeared out of nowhere, grabbed the blonde and her notebook before dragging her away.

Standing in front of Jeremiah Arkham in his office felt awful. Harleen was like a child who hadn't listened to her parent and got scolded badly. She got assigned to Ariadna Walker, a black widow. Killed four men, took their money, standard stuff. She took her meds, liked to chit-chat. Probably none of her stories were real.

Harleen was still thinking about John Myers.

Whatever happened that day, whatever made him so angry he had to hurt his own girlfriend was not mental illness. Marie must've triggered something deep inside that man. He was hiding some dark feelings. No man goes from an honor student to a freak who stabs people in a span of a few years. Harleen was considering child abuse or bullying before. It had to be it.

After begging Joan for days she could finally go back to treating John. She fixed her glasses and mentally reminded herself to buy the other woman an expensive bottle of wine. Their places switched. Joan was now sitting in a dark corner observing.

"How are you, mister Myers?"

"John," the man muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Call me John."

Harleen nodded with a smile.

"I'm sorry for the last time," Myers continued monotonously. "I got angry, it was not cool."

The blonde was struck dumb.

"It's alright," she replied. "Everyone has a right to get angry. It's human."

Whole session went smoothly. Quinzel was asking questions, John was answering. She found out he'd had a sweet tooth. He also enjoyed Bob Marley's music. He told the intern a few stories. She giggled once or twice. But she did not touch the subject of Marie, not yet.

If it weren't for the straitjacket, or the bad smell, Harleen could almost feel as if she was having a small talk with an old friend in a pub. Unfortunately, the session had come to an end. Joan arose from her seat and Quinzel began to pick up her papers.

"She called me a pussy."

Sound of Myers' voice starled the blonde. She raised her head and looked at him with questioning look. The vulgar word he'd used threw her off guard. Leland kept quiet, too.

"She called me a pussy," John repeated. "And I ain't a pussy."

And on that same day John Myers was reported dead. He'd hung himself in his cell at night. Harleen had realized she was wrong all along. John's incident was not an impulse. It was a planned act born from hatred.

Quinzel closed her eyes and closed John's files. She will have to put them in the archives, just like the rest of deceased patients' papers. She took her coat and bag as she was headed to her empty apartment. She'd also have to ask about the Joker again.


	2. Chapter 2

She felt miserable.

Not only because she'd lost a patient, but because her wrong theory could not let her help John. Only if she were right she'd prevent those awful events. But Joan did not agree.

"It wasn't your fault. It had to happen sonner ot later."

Harleen could not look at it like that, especially when life is at stake. Even Ariadna Walker could see.

"Don't look so sour, doc. Shit happens." When Harleen looked at her reproachfully she laughed. "People talk."

Quinzel was sitting in a blue kitchen in her apartment. A cup with steaming hot coffee was helping her with staying awake, while she was reading a newspaper. On the front page it said in big bold letters 'Another robbery in Gotham'. The girl leaned over the article. This time the target turned out to be a jewelry store. Two policemen dead, robbers were not caught. There was a black and white picture of a broken cabinet.

She felt as if she was back at University with Guy. Back then papers and tv were talking about Joker day and night. She was working on her thesis. Arkham was her biggest dream.

Harleen blinked and realized her drink had gone cold. It was an early morning, but she decided to head back to bed.

"Let's talk about something else," Ariadna said the next day. "Don't wanna play charades, it's boring."

The doctor was quiet.

"You're still fussing? Come on, it's been so long..." When she did not get a response, she tried to provoke Quinzel. "Everyone is wondering what'd you do to that poor guy Myers that he had to take care of himself."

Blonde's face hardened, but the other woman kept talking. "You thought you got him all figured out, huh? her voice grew bitter. "That's the problem with you people. You're the smartest here."

"No, we're not," Harleen replied at last. "And that's why John ended up this way. I was wrong."

Silence fell. Two women were staring at each other, then Ariadna smiled widely and leaned in. "I got news. Wanna hear?"

The girl rolled her eyes. Walker's mood swings were really tiresome. There was no way to get ready for what could happen next. Perhaps another story, or a pen to the eye?

"I'm all ears."

Ariadna made a dramatic face and looked at the doors checking, if someone was eavesdropping. Her eyes became even bigger. "The joker bit off guard's ear. You heard?"

Of course she'd heard. She's been following Joker's every move for a while now. Besides, it was not hard to notice a running man with a bloody cheek and fearful face. You could hear the characteristic clown laugh in a whole building.

"Sure I did."

"You know why he did it?"

Quinzel shrugged.

"Apparently, that dude'd stepped a tiny bit too close to Mr J's comfort zone. And that's what I call crazy! We all got nothing on him."

Harleen could not say Walker was wrong. Every patient has a past. Mental illness is always hidden in that period, no matter if it's loneliness, abandonment or boredom. But not Joker. He does not have a real name, parents or childhood. Not a single thing which could lead to his roots. He was a riddle to Harleen and unraveling him felt exciting. But she would never admit to it. There was also Batman. The only person the clown was connected with. His nemesis.

Quinzel shuddered woken up from her thoughts. Ariadna was staring at her intensively.

"Know what, doc? I like you."

"Really?" Blonde's voice cracked and she cleared her throat. Ariadna purred.

"You're nice. You don't judge us freaks."

"I'm in no position to judge you."

"Right," Walker drawled. "That's not what my daddy'd say." She said that last word with such sweetness that Harleen's guts turned. She blinked and asked:

"What do you mean?"

"God is merciful, but not everyone deserves his love," Ariadna whispered then twisted her lips in a pout.

"I thought your father left when you were a child."

"Oh no, no, no. My foster dad!"

Harleen skinned and nervously fixed her glasses.

"He was a cool guy, but he talked too much. Like them priests on Sundays."

"Was he a pastor?"

"Nope," Walker laughed. "He was a redneck who tried to look smart. Know what is the best bit?"

"What?"

"I didn't have to kill him, he did it for me."


	3. Chapter 3

She was again in doctor Arkham's office. She was looking at her hands and twidsting her fingers nervously. She did not want to look at the man. She felt like shit.

"Quinzel," the director said and the girl had to look up. "What is it with you?"

The blonde could not find an answer, but Arkham was waiting. "I'm not sure myself."

The man sighed. Harleen reluctantly thought back on the previous day and session with Paul Mars. She was a substitute for another doctor who had a sick wife in the hospital. Right after Harleen went into the room, she saw that the patient was not friendly. He was frowning. He sat while rocking on his chair.

Before the session Quinzel looked through his files. Paul Mars, 38 years old, born in Gotham. No mention of close family. Had been unemployed for 2 years. Possibility of schizophrenia. He'd hit a random person on the street.

Harleen was told to show him some of his own drawings. They were mostly pastel scribbles.

"What is on the picture?" she showed him one of the pictures. There were pink flowers and a female face in the middle. Paul did not say anything. He kept rocking.

"Hello?" Still no answer. "Paul?"

His head suddenly snapped back and he looked at her anxiously.

"What does this picture represent?"

His eyes turned to the drawing, saliva dripping from his mouth.

"Is it someone close to you?"

He shook his head.

"Is it someone you admire?"

He nodded.

"Who is it?

"Jane," he stammered quietly.

Jane. Harleen looked at the picture. The woman on it had brown hair, full lips and freckles. She looked like one of the nurses at Arkham, Jane Goldblum.

The blonde heard a chair screeching against the floor. When she looked up Paul was leaning over her with wide eyes. She could feel his breath on her frozen face. Fortunately, cuffs chianed to the ground held him back. He stayed in that position for a while then sat back. Harleen let out a big breath of air.

"Quinzel, I've been thinking about assigning Joker to you, but now I'm not so sure."

Her heart almost stopped. Jeremiah noticed her pained expression and asked, "Why'd Paul Mars had to be sedated?"

"I was showing him his drawings, just like I'd ben told. Then I asked him about Jane, a nurse whom he likes. Apparently that angered him."

"Since Myers you haven't been the same," Arkham stated. "And I know how hard you worked to get where you are right now. So I'm going to give you a chance to figure it out. Go home. And when you're back you'll be able to treat Joker." His tone said 'no excuses'.

Quinzel did as he'd said. She took her stuff quickly leaving. It was a late evening, but she did not want to go back home yet. She'd figured fresh air should help her.

She stopped her car by a pub in the heart of Gotham. She sat for a few minutes not able to decide, if she should go in. She hit her hands on the steering wheel then headed inside the place. Smell of cigarette smoke and sweat hit her nostrils right at the entrance. She inhaled deeply savouring the stench.

She walked towards the bar while looking around. Middle aged man stood behind it along with a young girl. She smiled viciously at Harleen's appearance. The young woman was still wearing a navy blouse and pencil skirt. Her hair was in a braid. She sat on one of the stools looking shy.

"You want somethin' to drink?" the barmaid asked. Her eyes shone like emeralds.

"Beer," Quinzel replied shortly.

As soon as the girl turned around to get a glass Harleen let her hair down. It fell on her shoulders softly. She drank most of the gold liquid at once. She hadn't realized how much she missed it. She could afford a bit of craziness at college. Memories of parties with Guy and his friends still remained in her head.

One night everybody, but Harleen and Guy, were either asleep or scavenging in the kitchen. The couple was laying on smelly old sofa, playing footsie.

"Wanna hear a joke?"

"No, enough!"

"Please, Quin, you'll love this one!"

The girl gave up and poked her boyfriend on his belly with her foot.

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Ya."

"Ya who?"

"I'm excited to see you, too!" They both bursted into laughter.

Harleen saw by the corner of her eye someone sitting next to her. It was a tanned man wearing a leather jacket. "Whiskey," he mumbled to the barmaid.

Quinzel had no idea what went into her, but she said, "Rough day?"

The man smiled faintly then glanced at her. He had a scar on his cheek. "You have no idea."

'Believe me, I do,' she thought to herself bitterly.

"Back from work?"

"The boss had given me a few free days."

"Lucky you." The guy turned away, somebody was calling for him. He sent her a friendly look and he was gone. Quinzel decided to go home by foot.

Surprisingly, Harleen slept through a whole night with no problems. In the morning she got up freshened up, ate a big breakfast and came back for her car. In the evening she sent a mail to Paul Mars' therapist. The rest of her free time she spent reading all of her notes on Joker. She stopped to look at his potograph. It was black and white, but he looked intimidating as ever. His sharp features, tattoos, thin lips gave Harleen palpitations. They were not those 'butterflies in belly' kinda palpitations. It felt more like a mix of fear and excitement.

Those feelings never left her, even when she was walking to a room at the end of a corridor. Her heart almost lept out of her chest, hands were clammy. Despite all of it Harleen could not wait anymore. She halted right by the door, so the guard could open it. He sent her a miserable look.

Harleen went in and nearly smirked. Two more guards were standing by Joker's sides. She skinned as a sign to let them know they can leave.

They were alone.

"Well, hello there."

And at that time Quinzel was sure she was made for treating Joker.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hello."

He looked so much better than on the photos. His vibrant green hair contrasted nicely with his alabaster skin. He had dark circles under his blue eys, lips painted red presumably with lipstick. He was wearing a standard straitjacket, but it did not make him look any less intimidating.

"I'm doctor Harleen Quinzel. From now on I'll be your psychiatrist. I'm honored to be here with you-" He suddenly started laughing. It was an unnatural sound. It felt fake and drawn out. He breathed in when he'd stopped.

"Are you flirting with me, doc?" he asked.

That's when Harleen noticed he had a metal grill. It shone in yellow light of the room. That's not what confused her. His voice also sounded strange, guttural, low. As if he was purring. When Harleen hadn't answered he laughed.

"Just kidding."

The blonde cleared her throat.

"I meant it."

"I have a fan? Yipee!"

"I don't support your actions. I'm simply interested in your psyche."

"Oh, so you don't have a death wish?"

"No, mister Joker," she repiled, nervously fixing her glasses. He giggled quietly.

"So formal!" he mocked. "Tell me, doctor, why do wear these glasses? You want everyone to treat you seriously? You want to be regarded as smart?"

Quinzel was ready for that, the name calling, mockery. Every previous psychiatrist of Joker went through it. Every word he'd say should not be taken to heart. Absolutely not. He'd get rid of all the danger this way. Insulting others gave him pleasure, so it seemed. It was a game where he'd hurt his victim in the worst way.

"No. These are prescribed," Quinzel opposed.

"Ooh. May I try them on?" he asked while crooking his head childishly.

Harleen hesitated. Despite him being in a straitjacket and chained up, she had to be cautious. He was still staring at her, so she sighed and took them off. She leaned in with Joker. She put the glasses on the clown and he purred. She felt creeps on her spine.

"How do I look?"

"Charming," she replied facetiously.

Joker smiled widely, showing his grill once again. Small wrinkles appeared around his eye corners. He looked quite ridiculous.

"This is fun," he stated, looking around.

"So it is our first meeting," she uttered. "I'd like it to go smoothly. During our second session we'll begin to work..." The clown was not listening to her at all, so she went quiet.

She could look at Joker closely. He seemed fragile. You could forget for a second that he was a dangerous criminal, that he'd snap Harleen's neck any second, if it wasn't for the straitjacket. The blonde grimaced without knowing it. She hadn't noticed when they started to stare at each other. Thick silence hung over them. Her chest squeezed under his intense look. They sat like this for minutes or hours, she had no idea. She felt good.

"You'd never lie to me, would you?" Joker murmured, leaning.

"No," she answered involuntarily.

"What's wrong, doctor Quinzel?" he used her title.

"You don't belong here." It's was true. The Clown-Prince of Crime in a hole like this? Impossible, right?

"You don't either." His eyes flashed. "Why'd you decide to treat freaks? Hm? Was it your lifelong wish, mommy's whim? Or a way to make yourself relevant?"

It was none of those things. She picked psychiatry because of her father. He was a criminal himself, a con man in New York City. As a child Harleen couldn't comprehend why he did what he did. Why he stole from innocent people before gaining their trust, why he was never there for her, or why he was a drunken bastard. She picked psychiatry to understand her father's actions.

"I'm here because of my dad."

"Hmm, your dad. Was he a piece of shit like mine, too? Would he beat your mom every Friday?" Joker drawled out, his eyes still on her. There was no mockery left in him.

Sound of opening doors had broken the spell and Harleen blinked, feeling her cheeks redden. She quickly reached for her glasses still sitting on Joker's nose and put them on. A guard came in and began removing the cuffs keeping the clown in place. Harleen recognized him. It was Stewarts.

"Come on," he growled and pulled Joker up.

Harleen left without looking back. She stopped when she was beyond block B. She was breathing quickly, resting against cold walls. She laughed quietly and wiped her wet hands.

A few hours later, when she was in her office, Leland stopped by. She asked about Joker.

"It went really good."

"Too good," Joan commented. "Don't celebrate yet. We don't know what that clown is up to."

Quinzel wasn't planning on celebrating. She had so much work ahead of her. Cracking Joker was awful for some in the past. She understood. They had taken a wrong approach. Classifed the Prince-Clown in the same category as the other patients. He is not like them. He's a genius manipulator with no need of showing any emotion. He's aware of that and it makes him even more dangerous.

Harleen has a nose for sensing hidden feelings. She's good at nitpicking things others want to put away. It makes her equally unpredictible.


	5. Chapter 5

He was waitng for her when she got there. He was sitting hunched in his chair with eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar. He looked as if he was sleeping. Harleen sat down and told guards to leave. They were left alone and then Joker moved. He looked at her but said nothing. She placed papers on the table, narrowing her lips. The faster she starts, the faster she finishes. Right?

"Morning."

"Good morning," she greeted him with a smile. "How are you feeling, mister Joker? You look tired. Do you have problems with sleep?"

"I have a lot on my mind."

"Hm." She will have to talk to Jeremiah about a prescription for Ramelteon. "Well, today I'd like to discuss your previous statements. Namely, your stories. So far you've had a drinking abusive father, you mentioned a circus, a junkie mother and a loving family. How's that possible?"

"All you shrinks do is ask, ask and ask," he exclaimed, clearly annoyed. "How am I supposed to tell you anything, if I can't remember?"

"Oh. So you don't remember anything form your childhood?"

He did not answer. Harleen noted 'memory loss' next to 'inconsistent stories'.

"Are you able to recall events which happened later on?" she asked, hoping he'll say something. "For example, your transition to who you are today?"

"I took a bath in chemicals."

Ah yes. The blonde looked at the papers. 'Ace Chemicals - clown's birth?' and 'Batman's doing?' were underlined.

"You were pushed down, right?"

"I don't remember," he replied coldly.

Quinzel sighed lightly. Will she have to give up eventually, like the rest of his psychiatrists? She couldn't accept that. Usually those poor people ran away after a few weeks, infuriated with the clown's lies and his cynicism. Defeat was out of question in Harleen's case.

"Alright. I can see you're not in the mood, mister Joker," she started writing in her notebook. 'Birth of Joker is too painful, silence is a result of a trauma. Patient chose to keep out those memories.'

"Let's play a game," the clown proposed cheerfully. His irritation had seemed to vanish quite fast.

"Which game?"

"21 questions. It's not fair you get to ask all those questions. I'm missing out on so much fun."

"Mister Joker, I don't think it's a good idea," Harleen answered hesitantly.

"And why is that?" he growled, forwning.

"I'm not allowed to reveal any personal information about myself to patients."

Quinzel did not want to end up like Jean Black. A female patient of hers got her fooled. Then she murdered the Black family using all information she had received. Jean went crazy herself afterwards.

"I'll try to keep it as not personal as possible. Pretty, pretty please?" Joker begged. His eyes were boring into her own. "I'll be a good boy."

The girl swallowed helplessly. Would he get mad, if she refused? Or would he keep staring at her with his puppy eyes? Her heart was beating violently.

"Okay. You start," she agreed to it finally.

The clown giggled. "Do your friends call you Harley?"

"I don't have friends."

He made a surprised face. "My friends call me mister J or simply J. And we are friends, hm?"

"I think so, mister J."

Joker purred like a kitten. Except he looked like a shark who couldn't wait to devour his victim. "Your turn, Harley."

"Do you have many friends? she decided to play along. She quickly noted 'prefered names are mister J/J'.

"The number does not mean quality. It's better to have a single reliable friend at your side than bunch of fakes, don't you think?"

'He values loyalty and devotion. A misterious friend?'

"Who named you Harleen?"

"My father," she said reluctantly. "Which tattoo had been the first one?"

"I'll show you someday," he shifted in his straitjacket. "Do you always wear your hair like that?"

"Only at the asylum. Some like to get grabby here."

"If I were to grab you I'd never let go."

For some reason Harleen got irritated, but she knew that's how he worked with his prey. Sweet compliments and suggestions will enlarge your already flattered ego and then make you believe in lies he feeds you. It works best on insecure women searching for praise.

"And why is that?" Harleen decided to take the bait.

Joker looked at her from under his long eyelashes.

"You remember our talk about your daddy, when we got so rudely interrupted. He gave you your name, fucked you up and forced you to this God forgotten hole-"

"Mister Joker-"

"He was the one who created this Harleen, daddy's good girl and it's not you-"

"You promised-"

"There the real you, hidden deeply," he started talking faster. "I can smell her. I'll never let her go."

"Enough."

"You can't tell me you've never wanted to rip out his guts."

"Enough!" Harleen yelled, hitting the table with her fist. Her chest was heaving up quickly, tears blurring her vision. That's exactly what she'd wanted to avoid. She'd let him inside her head. He wants that, her to expose herself. He could play with her without end then.

"Oh, Harley, Harley baby. There's so much you have to learn about the world." The clown burst out with loud laughter. He tilted his head back, showing some of his tattoos.

A guard runned into the room. "Are you alright, doctor Quinzel?" he asked with care. "Shut up, you freak!"

"I'm fine," she spoke quietly and stood up.

"Remember, Harley! Pain is pleasure, pleasure is pain," Joker cried after her.

Harleen was making a report in asylum's director'd office. She was trying not to stutter.

"He's having prblems with sleeping. I was thinking about prescribing him Rozerem and keeping an eyes on any issues."

The man skinned and when she was finished he asked. "How are you?"

"I'm doing good," she said convincingly.

"As soon as you'll feel you're not able to treat Joker you tell me. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."


	6. Chapter 6

"Paul sends his apologies."  
Paul Mars' picture was placed in front of her. The schizopherenic had amazing talent. Harleen guessed it was her on the picture. Her fair locks, blue eyes, full lower lip and many scarlet roses were on the drawing. It was beautiful.  
"He's really sorry," Anath said, excussing his patient's actions. "He hopes you'll forgive him."  
He looked at her pleadingly. "I feel bad, too."  
Harleen smiled slightly. "Nonsense, doctor," she replied shyly. "It was nobody's fault, but please tell Paul I'm not mad."  
The elder man skinned awkwardly and ended the topic. They were sitting in a cafeteria, eating lunch. Harleen had come to work to meet with Ariadna, but her stay in the isolation ward had been extended for another couple days. She knocked out teeth of one of the male nurses and Jeremiah was not happy. The blonde had some free time before a staff meeting.  
"So," Anath spoke. "You're treating Joker."  
The girl nodded curtly.  
"How is it going?"  
Harleen pondered. How was it going? So far she had been able to learn about his memory loss, tattoos and unknown friend of his. He knew much more about her. She sighed.  
"Good?" it sounded like a question. "I mean... I'm still alive."  
The man smiled with sympathy.  
"He's very interested in my person," she continued. "I have to be extra careful, so I don't say something stupid."  
"I have to say, the clown is quite a charismatic persona. Anyone would fall under his charm."  
"It's not exactly about that," the blonde said back. "I'm good at reading people, but I'm an open book myself."  
Guy knew that, too. He quickly realized what had happened that night. She wouldn't laugh at his jokes.  
"I'm guessing Joker is not that easy to read."  
"He's impossible to read," she drawled, thinking about his frightening sneer. "No past, nothing what could explain why he is like that."  
Anath had a strange look on his face. She felt as if he was the experienced adult and she was a stubborn brat, who was proved wrong.  
"I've been in this business for some time now and I've seen a lot," he murmured. "Believe me, every one of those guys here has a reason for doing things. Voices in their heads, daddy issues, genes, doesn't matter. Every one of 'em has something that pushes them forward."  
Quinzel frowned.  
"Joker enjoys violence, blood and corruption, right?"  
"Yes, that's right. He does it for sport."  
"So what is it that he believes in, what is his motivation?"  
Exactly, what?  
A young woman stuck her head inside bashfully. She had a long braid laying on her shoulder. She was probably scared. "Doctor, Paul is ready."  
"Ah, yes. Thank you, Caroline. I'll be there shortly," Anathturned to her and stood up. The girl disappeared.  
Harleen woke up from her daydreaming gustly. "Mind if i tag along?"  
"Sure."  
She took the drawing and they went together to block A. Paul was waiting with Jane Goldblum next to the main exit to outside area for patients. Mars was waggling and Jane was stroking his back. She looked happy. Quinzel waved to both of them. Paul smiled.  
When she finally got to her small apartment, the blonde started thinking about unraveling the Clown-Prince of Crime's motivation. She was sitting in a sunken armchair with her laptop on knees. There was a mug with coffee on a table with various papers next to it. It said on one of the sheets there: 'Sociopathy; glibness, manipulation, pathological lying, lack of remorse, incapacity of love, lack of empathy, imuplsive nature, contemptuousness towards those who seek to help, aim of enslaving victims, extreme narcissism'.  
Harleen was reading the information she could aquire. Although she was not sure, if it was what she needed.  
'Nihilism; from latin "nihil" meaning "nothing, that which does not exist"; all values are baseless and nothing is known; no loyalities, no purpose, only destruction; forms of nihilism: political, ethical, existential'.  
Quinel bit her lip. She wanted to watch recordings which she had got from Jeremiah Arkham. She played the first one of them. It was a standard monitoring video from a session. The date indicated it had been recorded years ago. Joker and his first psychiatrist were sitting opposite of each other. There was no sound. It went on for some time until suddenly the clown arose and pushed away the table separating them.  
He approached the woman who was trying to get away from him. He punched her straight in the face and she feel to the ground. He began to kick and beat her untils he stopped moving. Guards and man wearing white ran into the room and pulled Joker away from the unconscious woman.  
Harleen sat there frozen. She could not tear away her eyes fromt the dark screen. After a while she breathed out, blinking. She felt sick. She put aside her laptop on the floor and cringed in the chair. She had to break away from all of this if only for a while. She fell asleep anxiously.  
"Is something wrong, doctor Quinzel?" Joker asked, dragging out the vowels. "You look upset."  
The blonde gritted her teeth tightly and focused on her notes. She was not upset, but helpless. She was extremely sweaty.  
"Come on, Harley. Say it, honey, say it, say it."  
"Would you kill me, mister J?"  
He was staring at her palms and when she used his nickname, he smiled widely. "Why would I do that?" the clown mumbled, still looking at blonde's hands.  
"Would you hurt me?" she tried again.  
"Depends," he replied shortly.  
"On what?"  
"If you have a lot to answer for," Joker turned his eyes to Harleen's face with his dreadful smile still present. Of course she did! She will never forget about the event and Guy. "Why does it matter?"  
"If you do it's not going to be as fun," he explained jauntily. "The innocent ones taste better."  
He slid his tongue on the metal grill to put stress on what he had just said. Harleen was annoyed. Why couldn't she get any answers out of him?  
"What about your first psychiatrist? Was she innocent?"  
"Jordan?" he said thougthfully. "Not really." He noticed her confused face and sighed impatiently. "Harley, sweet pea, listen carefully because I'm not going to repeat myself."  
Quinzel sat quietly. She did not want to provoke him. He was irritated already.  
"Humans are predictible creatures. Their rules and moral code, it's all shit. Take from them thier sense of safety and you get frightened animals ready to do anything you tell them," the clown spoke, not leaving his eyes from her face. "Just to save thier own asses."  
Harleen exhaled hesitantly.  
"I've told you already, Harley," he kept talking. "You're not like... them. These civilized people would leave you to sharks, if you so dared to lift a finger in a wrong way. Am I right, doctor?"  
Of course he was right. She did not want to admit to it, though. The Clown-Prince of Crime had triumph written all over him. His eyes sparkled dangerously. Harleen leaned forward, testing the waters. Her heart almost jumped out from her chest.  
"Is that why you do what you do, mister J?" she asked in low voice. "Do you enjoy destroying everything around you?"  
Joker smiled and purred. He looked ecstatic. He said something, but Harleen could not understand him. "Tell me, J."  
He licked his lips and uttered gutturally, "You'd make an excellent anarchist, my Harley Quinn."  
The new nickname threw Quinzel off guard, but she understood where it came from. You had to move a few letters around and you got 'harlequin', a medieval jester. The blonde could not help but smile.


	7. Chapter 7

Harleen giggled as she squirmed under the sheets. Long fingers crept on her skin, tickling her. They kept going lower and lower. She sighed, not feeling like laughing anymore.

"Guy, no," she mumbled quietly. "Anna is in the next room."

"So?" he bit her shoulder.

She wiggled out of his hold and made a face. "Don't make me punch you. Besides, we'll be late for classes."

Kopski rolled his eyes. Of course, classes... When it came to his girlfriend, he was more carefree. He did not like planning. He prefered living for the moment. It felt more exciting that way. That's why he was in college. Harleen, on the other hand, tried her best to be the best, to put it simply. She'd never missed any lectures, scored A's on tests and studied for hours. When he first met her, he thought she was just a nerd. She'd turned to be so much more. Beautiful, smart and loving.

When he asked her why she'd picked psychiatry as her major, she said gymanstics would never get her far. Then he learned about her father and figured out it all by himself.

"Alright, you dork," he murmured, ripping away the blanets from his girlfriend. "Get your ass up!"

Once they were in the lecture hall, Harleen focused fully on what professor was saying. She noted every word and ignored Guy, who was constantly poking her. She had missed a few classes and her grades started sliping. All thanks to the famous parties in the dorms.

During lunch break they sat near the chestnut tree along with their friends.

"Harls," Jim said with his mouth full of food. "Those old geezers givin' you hell yet?"

"No, but I'll give you hell in a second," she snapped back and Anna chuckled behind her small hand.

"You're meeting Markus today, right?" Guy asked with a frown

All of her friends looked surprised. Jim almost choked on his sandwich. Harleen sighed deeply. She did not want this to turn into a big sensation. Not with people already questioning her acceptance into Gotham University.

"We'll be talking about my thesis," Harleen replied simply.

Well, not really talking. She needed to convince doctor Odin Markus to actually agree to her little experiment. Inviting him to her dorm room while doing puppy eyes had worked perfectly. As soon as he was seated on her blue sofa, she presented him her theory.

"I have long held there are only two circumstances under which a person disregards the rules of society," she recited. "When they commit a crime, or when they're in love."

"Hmm..." the man pondered. "An intriguing hypothesis, miss Quinzel."

"And completely unexplored, as far as I know, doctor Markus," she clasped her hands. "I could use it as the basis for my graduate thesis."

Markus sat back on the couch with a chuckle. "Ah! But to do that you'd need to be accepted into the psychiatric graduate program," he uttered. "And as head of the depratment, I'm afriad I've seen your grades, Harleen."

Quinzel expected that. How predictable. She leaned in and put her palms on his knees.

"And as the head of the department, you know I have a knack for this!" she said with a slight smirk. "I'm good at figuring out what makes people tick! Good enought to get you to meet with me in my dorm room," she got even closer to him. She could see he started to sweat.

"What'll we talk about here that we couldn't in your office, doctor Markus? Or were you thinkin' we wouldn't do much talking?"

The man became flustered. He started to wave his hands around and his cheeks were bright red. Harleen smiled in victory in her head. She got him wrapped around her pinky finger. For a second she felt bad for him.

"I, um..." he stammered. "I think you've shown uncommon initiative, miss Quinzel- which you'll need to get into G.S.U.'s grad school."

Exactly, she could not put it better. An independent experiment focused on the intersectiom of love and crime. Could love overlook robbery, murder? What is the worst thing a person can forgive? Markus seemed to look pleased.

Suddenly door to her room were open and Guy came in. His hair was disheveled.

"Quinz!" he exclaimed. "You seen my paper on chaos theory? I left it here, right? I was working on it, you distracted me..." he stopped for a second. "Or I distracted you... Anyway, there was some major distraction going on!"

"Guy? This is-"

"An emergency! I know!" he yelled, while going through some papers on counters. They went flying everywhere. "And on the same day the Joker escapes- you believe it? Think my prof'll buy there's a connection?"

Kopski scratched his head. His expression changed to even more lost. He headed towards the battered fridge. Harleen approached the stack of papers on the floor and picked up the right one. She did not like when he drank that 'think drink' crap.

"You mean this paper, Guy?"

"Aha! Told you! And think what would've happened if I actually drank my drink!"

"Besides your head explodin'?" she let herself be wrapped in his strong arms. He kissed her cheek and she smelled his sweet cologne.

"No way, Quinz. You wouldn't let it! You're the control rods to my nuclear meltdown! The chemical release valve in our very own love canal!"

Harleen fell to the ground with a loving face. Her lips formed a wide smile as she shook her head slightly.

"And I'm outta here!"

She sighed quietly, still smiling. "He forgot his paper. But he's a sweet heart. He'd do anything for me, and vice versa. Anything."

Markus finally caught up. He slowly rose up from the sofa. "Are you saying.. you'll experiment on your own boyfriend?"

It sounded ridiculous, but her intentions were good. It was supposed to be a game, a carefuly controlled game. She would never hurt Guy, she loved him so much.

In the evening that same day Harleen was sitting in her dark dorm room, waiting for Guy. He came in with a newspaper in his hand. "Mail call, Quinz. Not to mention a male calling!"

She kept quiet.

"Hey! The Joker said he'll put his deadly venom in the water supply. Again! If he isn't paid a smile tax for every grin in the city!" he continued to blab, then said a pretty bad joke. "I don't hear you laughing, Quinz. And that was funny! I admit it- you're dating a funny guy!"

She was still silent. He finally stopped talking. "Quinz?"

"I... I did something awful today, Guy," she whispered. "I drove through a red light."

"Big deal!" Kopski plopped down next to her on the couch. "So you're on the cop's ten million most wanted list. On the bottom!"

"A little higher than that, Guy. See, I went throught the light 'cause the cops were chasing me," she explained. "But I think I lost them. I think."

He still did not believe her. "Sh'yeah, right! And what were you doing? Driving the Joker's getaway car?"

"No... Just a stolen car."

"Serious?" he asked with concern and confusion.

"Serious," she looked at her hands as a single tear ran down her cheek. "You know my grades. I'll never get into grad school. So I met Markus in the gym.." she took a deep breath. "To black mail him. Told him I'd say he tried to rape me. I thought I had everything under control..."

His expression was frightened now, but she continued. Harleen told him about Odin Markus laughing at her, about the tape recorder and the gun. How she was scared about her future collapsing. Then she pulled out a gun she had obtained earlier. She was surprised how easily she had got it. It felt heavy in her palm.

"Quinnz! Gimmie that!" Guy yelled and took the firearm from her. "It's true.. All true! The gun's been fired recently. I can smell it! And a bullet is missing from the cup!"

She'd had to go out to the woods minutes before Guy came back. She fired once into the sky, then she ran back scared shitless. She'd never done it before.

Harleen covered her wet face with her hands. "I don't kow what came over me..." she sobbed. "What to do next. Will... will you stand by me, Guy?"

Quinzel heard a swish of air and looked up. Papers were still floating in the air to eventually fall into the floor. "Guy-?"

He was gone.

Harleen panicked. Where did he go? He still had the gun! It was not supposed to go that way. Kopski should hug her, comfort her, tell her it's alright. Her thesis was to be proven right! This was not part of her plan at all!

She began to pace around her room and then it hit her. The gym! She ran across the campus and did not stop until she reached the building. He was there.

"Guy! I thought you'd be there!" she excalimed relieved. "It's okay! Don't worry. I didn't shoot Markus!" she told him the truth.

"No... ha ha... I did. Saw him moving in the shadows... Still alive... so..." Guy mumbled faintly. "Ha ha... You'll love this, Quinz. A real scream... So I shot him..."

She stood next to him terrified. She was shaking all over her body, could not utter a single word. How did this happen? Was that her fault? Kopski was still a mumbling mess. He was staring at the homeless man he had shot. Harleen was so scared.

"Ha ha! Pretty funny, huh, Quinz?" So funny I could die..." he said and pointed the gun at himself.

"Guy, no!" Quinzel screamed finally. She had to think fast. "I'll... I'll get rid of the body! No one'll ever know!"

"I will," Guy replied with a broken voice. He started to cry and she could not help but follow, too. "Help me, Quinz. Don't... don't know if I can pull the trigger again," he begged her and closed his eyes.

"Guy. Don't. Please."

He tilted his head back and pressed te gun to his jaw. His hand was trembling.

"I love you," Harleen whispered.

"Do it because you love me..."

Sound of a fired gun echoed across the whole building.


	8. Chapter 8

Harleen was nervously biting the end of a pencil, while waiting for someone to notify her, if she could head for her session with Joker. This time they'd meet in a special room. Well, it wasn't very special per se, but it did look different than the other session rooms. It had a settee for the patient. It supposedly helped with trust gaining, but it wouldn't be too helpful with the clown.

After a few weeks of meetings with Joker, Harleen had been able to get a permission for an experimental session, just to see how would Joker behave, if he even behaved at all. And with no straitjacket on, he was even more deadly.

Harleen had made a list of things she'd like to talk with him about. The anarchism, violently agressive psychopathy, nihilism, fixated narcissism. As much as she enjoyed the small talks they had been through so far, she had to show some results of the treatment. Let's say Jeremiah Arkham was a patient man to some extent. When a nurse came into her office, Quinzel clumsily gathered her papers and followed the woman.

The Clown-Prince of Crime was already laying on the settee. The room was dark. He had closed eyes, his palms were on his chest, which was rising steadily. She could not hold back a sigh. For some reason he had this effect on her that made her dizzy and restless. And when he called her that ridiculous name 'Harley Quinn', she smiled. It's like he knew exactly which buttons to press.

She sat down on a chair close to the man and crossed her legs.

"Hello, mister Joker," she said and got no answer. "I hope those problems with falling asleep are no more."

More silence. Harleen pursed her lips, feeling annoyed already. He hadn't moved an inch and she began to think maybe he was actually sleeping. Her hands twitched.

"I had a dream about a friend," he finally replied and opened his eyes.

She quickly scribbled 'the friend - one or multiple people?'.

"Was it a good dream?"

"No. I killed him. I didn't want to though."

'Mild consciousness of remorse?'

They began to talk about his life before he had been captured and put in the asylum. She learned about his businesses - the clubs. He talked about his partners, deals with them. How annoying he had found them to be. Those thugs ultimately cared only about the money. Whereas the clown despised that, not interested in the trivial things such as cash. Harleen listened carefully with admiration painted of her face.

He sat up abruptly and the blonde jumped in her seat slighlty. Joker rolled his neck, the cracking sound extremely loud. He reached his pale hand and tugged on the band in Harleen's hair. It fell on her back swiftly.

"Now, that's better," he murmured. He patted the spot next to him. "Come, sit with me, doc."

Quinzel was hesitant, but eventually did what he'd asked her to. Her whole body was stiff and he sensed it. She'd never been this close to him, her vision began to blur.

"May I?" he asked with a hand pointing to the notes she was holding onto. He took them without permission. "What do we have here?"

Quinzel felt embarrassed and she could feel her face heating up. He was reading her personal notes and she could do nothing about it. There she was again with her guard let down. What a joke!

"The Joker," he read aloud. "Anarchist, psychopath, narcissist. Is that what I am to you, doc? A mad killer?"

"Psychopathy is not an illness," she mumbled.

"Huh?"

"Psychopaths are not crazy. It's a disorder."

"Oh, please. Tell me what you really think," he tossed the papers away.

Harleen cleared her throat. "I think... you're a highly intelligent criminal who takes fun in manslaughter. You calculate your moves with caution, you don't take no for an answer, you'll kill anybody who'd stay in your way of taking over Gotham."

Joker scoffed and stood up. He began murmuring to himself and Quinzel could not understand anything. She did not move and stayed in that rigid position on the settee, desperately trying to even her breathing.

"Do you really mean it?" he almost yelled. "My God, Harls, I thought you were a smart girl."

"What?" she was really confused.

"It's not about me being mad, or me killing people," the clown drawled, his hands making dramatic gestures. He almost looked perplexed. "No one gives a shit about that!"

"Mister Joker, please-"

"Be quiet," he snapped and her lower lip trembled.

Harleen was not able to decipher how many emotions were present on Joker's face. It was twisted in a maniac grimace. There was rage, irritation and... desperation? How she wished to take a quick peek inside his mind, just a second to see what was going on in his head. But even if she cut into his skull she'd see nothing but a thick fog of confusion and mixed feelings. Or just black nothingness.

"It's about me being able to do whatever I want, be whoever I want. I'm free. Nobody can stop me, restrain me. Not the Bat, not those shrinks, nobody," the clown leaped towards her and kneeled down as he put his pale, bony palms on her knees. The rage on his face was gone. He took off her glasses and put them on his nose. Then he took the scattered notes and sat down on the fancy chair.

"Let me ask you a question, Harls," he said lowly. "How did you feel when your piece of crap dad was finally gone?"

Oh no. Not again.

Joker began to scribble on the paper and continued, "I bet you were confused as hell. 'What do I do now? Is this it? How am I supposed to live now?'.

He was right. When Nick Quinzel had been captured in one of the night clubs in New York city, Harleen, her siblings, and their mother were left alone. Six people crammed into a small apartment in Manhattan worked awfully bad. Harleen shared a room with her sister, three brothers slept in the other one, and Sharon Quinzel took the uncomfortable couch. When the eldest daughter had moved out to her boyfriend's flat, their family relations hit the rock bottom. Then Harleen met Guy and left, too.

"Tell me, Harley-are you free?"

"Y-yes."

He hummed in response and wrote something down. "Well, to some point-you are free. You're able to make your own choices, but these choices, you see, are restricted. If you were to rob a store you'd be put in jail, right?"

Quinzel skinned and nervously glanced at the door.

"You can choose as long as it's compatible with peoples' rules. Otherwise it's a no no!" he shook his finger. "Aha!" he exclaimed as if he just remembered and important thing. "I've promised you something, doc-and I'm a man of my word."

Harleen frowned when he stood up and tossed the notes onto the settee. He grabbed the back of his asylum uniform and took it off. The blonde's eyes widened as she took in his half naked posture. His whole torso and arms were covered with tattoos. But the big smile right below his navel along with the large 'JOKER' above it gathered all of young woman's attention. Then she noticed the 'hahaha's and the jester on his chest.

Harleen blinked and blushed brightly and quickly took the clown's shirt. She shoved it to now smiling man. "Aww, are you blushing, doctor Quinzel?" he asked with fake worry.

She was avoding his gaze. "Please, put it back on," she sputtered.

He pouted in response. He was playing with her again! She glanced at the door once more and eventually looked at the amused clown. He was still wearing her glasses and she took them. "Put it back on," Quinzel repeated. "Someone might come in any second. I'll get fired. Is that what you want, mister J?"

He shook his head childishly.

"But thank you for showing me."

Joker leaned into her. She could hear him purr and she shivered.

"My pleasure, doctor."


	9. Chapter 9

While waiting for doctor Leland, Harleen discovered that Joker had made very detailed notes in her notebook. She had been so unhappy she had been distracted once again and let the clown control the situation. So when she saw lines and lines of scribbles, she was more than surprised. Somehow, it didn't feel right; she was supposed to do all the noting.

He had touched the matter of his abusive, drinking father, which made her tremble.

'The patient's father seems to be tightly connected with his disorders. He was abused during his childhood, possibly neglected, too. The patient has no value for human life- is it also the result of abuse? Moreover, the extreme narcissism must be related with his anarchistic views, as he does not answer to anybody.'

He had doodled strings of 'hahaha's, a bleeding Batman logo and, much to her astonishment, a cartoony heart with their initials in it. She took a shaky breath.

"Harleen," a voice murmured softly.

Leland was there, smiling. Her dimples made an appearance. Harleen relaxed. Leland for some reason made the young woman feel calm and warm. The dark skinned psychiatrist had that bright aura, which kept everyone content. She was a stern, but kind person.

"Good afternoon," said the blonde bashfully.

"What's got you so engrossed?"

"Oh, I'm just going through some notes."

Harleen quickly closed her notebook and shoved it into her bag. If anyone saw those scribbles she'd be fired. Or worse, she's get her licence revoked. She'd be completely ruined. What a laugh would mister J have... Quinzel had finally met up with Ariadna, so she changed the topic of the conversation. Walker wasn't in the best shape.

"I'm worried," she sighed heavily.

Leland raised her perfectly lined eyebrows. She made a thoughtful face and propped herself on her elbows. Harleen blushed under her strong gaze.

"Isn't it weird? Feeling protective towards a criminal?"

"No, not at all," Leland replied. "You're kind and soft-hearted. Not exactly what would come to one's mind, if they were to describe a psychiatrist working in an asylum, but those men and women are humans after all. 'Criminal' or 'insane' are just stains on their minds."

Walker was human alright. She had been maltreated by her foster father for years. That included sexual, physical abuse, which had caused her to develop PTSD, anxiety and frequent panic attacks. She had grown to hate men. Whenever a male guard or nurse approached her, she threw a fit; and because of one of those attacks she had been put into a solitary. During the session she wasn't in a straitjacket, but there were chains around her ankles. The jet-black haired woman looked awful. She had dark circles under empty eyes, sunken cheeks and a busted lip.

Walker started spewing incoherent utterances with a shaky voice. She looked like she'd pass out any minute.

"I hate them, hate them, hate them," she kept mumbling. "I hate them so much. I want them gone!"

"You can be taken care by female nurses," Harleen suggested hesitantly. "I'll make a request."

Walker shook her head violently.

"I can't do that! It'd be a sign of weakness. I'm not allowed to be weak!"

Quinzel sighed when tears appeared in Ariadna's big eyes. She was shaking like a leaf when a guard began to release her and when she was being escorted to her cell, she was sobbing loudly. Later on the young doctor made a prescription for Tofranil.

"Quite frankly, I've never seen someone like you in a place like that," Joan confessed. "It'll be boring here without you."

The blonde found it so ironic. They had the asylum full of crazy criminals and she was the interesting one? She was regarded as unusual just because she was able to show a bit of kindness and understanding? Even though it wasn't sincere most of the time, she still at least tried to act convincingly. Jane Goldblum didn't have to do that, she truly loved her job. She was probably the only one person who did.

"What is the earliest memory you can recall?" asked Harleen, sitting stiffly next to Joker.

He made a pensive face and perched up his doctor's glasses on his nose. She knew he was playing with her, taunting her and while waiting for his response, she let herself skim her eyes over his arms. They were placed on his legs, palms connected. She stopped for a longer moment on the huge smile tattoo. She was so curious about the origins of every one of them, but didn't have courage to ask him.

"It has to be my sixth birthday," he mused. "Yes, definitely."

Avoiding questions again?

"Is there any event that you remember very well?"

"My seventh birthday."

Harleen felt like hitting her head on the wall. "Can you tell me some more about your friend? What features do you like about them?"

"Friend? Oh, right-my friend!" he chuckled.

She was still sceptical about the subject of Joker's possible companion. He, as a pathological narcissist and psychopath, would not be expected to get acquainted with anyone; let alone befriend someone. The clown lied almost all the time, it was better to take what he said with a grain of salt. And if he wasn't lying that meant he wasn't saying the whole truth. If there was any truth.

"Oh, he's a great guy, really. He's a tough nut who doesn't let anyone walk over himself. He's not a little sissy. If I took his wife, pulled out my favourite knife-the white one-and spilled her guts all over the floor, he'd not bat an eye."

Harleen shivered when Joker placed his palm gently no her thigh.

"But I would never let that happen to your beautiful insides," he batted his eyelashes.

"I wouldn't call them beautiful," she replied breathlessly.

"Why, sweetie?"

"You know what they say about the crazy ones."

He smiled wickedly. It seemed Joker liked people with a spine, with no fears, no attachments. He liked someone rotten. Quinzel was by no means innocent. Her baby blue eyes and round, flushed face may fool others, but she wasn't a typical cute blonde. She had made peace with that though.

Trying to control one's life was impossible. Sooner or later fate was going to fuck you over and ruin everything. Joker was snowballing through his entire life, not bothering with consequences. Quinzel had realized that storming through is the answer when Guy died. And that's exactly what she was doing. She didn't know if the clown would snap and strangle her or laugh with her. That was the beauty of the Clown-Prince of Crime. Not the number of his victims, his appearance, but his erratic mind. Anyone could slap on some make-up, shoot a gun and laugh maniacally. However, only Joker could make Quinzel hate and adore him at the same time.

"Is there anyone alse you admire?"

"I admire you, doctor Quinzel."

"M-me?" she asked surprised.

"Of course!"

Harleen was confused. Why on Earth would Joker admire someone like her? She was a damaged woman who still needed to be comforted at night after a nightmare. Nothing was right in her life. Her mother despised her, her brothers and sister wanted nothing to do with her, she killed her own boyfriend. People enjoyed company of the cute, smiley Harleen, not the Harleen with daddy issues.

"What's so admirable about me?"

"You haven't ran away from me yet."

He showed his signature smile, the one with the shiny grill and wrinkles in corners of his steel blue eyes. It was supposed to put her off, but she didn't even flinch.

"I told you, mister J. Nothing will make me run from you," Harleen said firmly.

He squeezed her thigh tightly, almost painfully. They both stayed quiet. No words were needed.

Some would surely find it alaraming that Harleen was more stressed about talking to the director of Arkham Asylum than to the Clown-Prince. The man himself wasn't scary per se, but the thought of him finding out about what was happening during her sessions with Joker was enough to set her on the edge. She had rewritten the notes, so doctor Jeremiah wouldn't see Joker's messy writing and the doodles. She had put in her own scribbles, too. And just as Harleen foresaw, Arkham's reaction wasn't entirely satisfied. He was scowling as he was reading what she had written. She was waiting patiently.

She had never noticed how many paintings there were in the office. A large portrait of Amadeus Arkham, two small landscapes and another portrait of a woman. The last one caught her eye, as she didn't recognize the female on the painting. Harleen was never a big fan of art, but that portrait was uncanny. The background supremely matched the colour of that woman's curly hair.

"I don't know what to say," Arkham sighed eventually. "This-this is quite amazing."

Huh. Really.

"None of Joker's previous psychiatrists were able to do this, to actually get something out of him," he stated gruffly.

Arkahm took off his crooked glasses and looked at the blonde intensively. She guessed he wanted her to speak up.

"I'm as surprised as you are, sir," she uttered.

"Right. You see, Quinzel-it's very unusual," Jermiah glanced at the notes again, shaking his head. "You're aware of Joker's attitude towards anyone in this institution. You've seen it."

She frowned. "What are you implying?" she asked, trying not to sound irritated.

"I'm not implying anything, Quinzel," Arkham said back, clasping his palms together. "But you're still just an intern. Whatever image of him you have in your head-it's fake."

When she reached for her notes, he stopped her. "I'll keep that, if you don't mind."

Harleen cursed once she was outside Jeremiah Arkham office. What has she got herself into?


	10. Chapter 10

Harleen growled at her reflection in the small mirror of her ugly, pink bathroom. She turned around and glared at her back and left shoulder. She moved her wet hair away to have a better look. There were a few yellow bruises coloring her fair skin. The biggest one was located lower, on her ribs, where she'd hit the railing. The two smaller ones were on the back of her arm. It hurt when she pressed on them. The skin turned white for a second just to go back to its ugly, green hue. She slumped defeated and put on a t-shirt. A mug full of hot chocolate would mask all of the pain for sure.

And it hurt as hell. It had been a stupid accident and she still didn't know why it had even happened. Actually, she did know why. Because she's a dumbass.

It was Friday, after a session with Walker. They were talking over her prescriptions with doctor Blake. When they were leaving, another inmate was being escorted to Blake's office with a guard. Quinzel recognized him as James Harrison, the schizophrenic rapist. He would have hurt even more young girls by Christmas if the police hadn't caught him. He was a bulky dark skinned man who had a shit eating grin on his lips almost all the time. A nasty, smug kinda creep.

Quinzel ignored the man, she had no time to deal with someone like him. But he wasn't looking at the doctor. He bared his teeth like an animal, then he halted and whispered a soft 'boo' before lashing out at Walker. Quinzel automatically reached out her arm to cover Ariadna. She pushed the older woman away. When Harrison leaped forward, Harleen stumbled and fell down on a metal railing, bruising herself. The guards quickly pulled the cackling criminal away and slammed him against a cold wall.

After preparing herself a hot drink, Quinzel plopped down an the purple sofa in her living room. She turned on the TV, not paying attention to which channel was on. But she did perk up at the mention of Batman. There was a reportage about recent disappearances of a few mob bosses who had been involved with human trafficking, and not only. They had been found in the Gotham docks, near Blackgate, all three of them beaten up and tied up. Police quickly caught up that it had been the vigilante's work.

When Quinzel was getting ready for bed, she noticed something outside the widow by the corner of her eye. It was the Batman light signal on the cloudy, night sky. She cracked a small smile.

Harleen appeared at work earlier than usually. She had woken up on hour before her alarm. Having nothing to do, she had decided to head to the asylum. Once she had arrived in her office, she realized there wasn't anything to get her hands on either. After a while she decided to reorganize the papers and books on her desk and shelves. During cleaning up she heard a faint knock on the door.

"Come in," she called out.

Jeremiah Arkham's head peaked in the door frame. His grey hair was sticking in all directions, his glasses looked more crooked and his eyes were shifting from side to side. He was actually nervous. It was funny watching his calm demeanour crumble down.

"Quinzel. Good, you're here," he mumbled.

"What is it, sir?"

"Do you mind?" he pointed at the outside.

She clumsily placed two books she was holding on the shelf and followed Arkham to the hall. And before her stood Bruce Wayne in person, doctor Serrano right next to him. She only had seen him on the TV. He looked very stylish and elegant, wearing a brand new beige jacket over a white shirt. His dark hair was slicked to the side. A slight stubble made his jaw seem even sharper. The man was very handsome.

He glanced at her with a small smile. Quinzel cursed her unruly hair and tried to smooth the strands down with a sheepish expression and flushed cheeks.

"Bruce, this is doctor Quinzel," Arkham finally spoke.

Wayne reached out his palm and she squeezed it briefly. She noticed an expensive watch on his wrist and, strangely enough, bruised knuckles. It seemed he had been in a fight.

"I box," he said after noticing her staring. Harleen raised her eyebrows and nodded curtly. Boxing, that made sense.

"I was into gymnastics once," she replied and then it was his turn to skin.

Doctor Serrano excused herself and they began to walk. Harleen felt the warmth of Wayne's side, he was so close. Arkham was still nervous for some reason.

"Bruce is interested in the Joker," he murmured as they passed the block A. "So I thought he should talk to you because you're the psychiatrist of the clown."

Bruce Wayne interested in the Clown-Prince of Crime? She wasn't able to figure out why exactly he'd be intrigued by criminals, but he was the most recognizable man in Gotham. He was rich as hell. The money had been spent on investments, yachts, cars and donations. Not only the Asylum had received the support. There had been hospitals, schools, orphanages the had been given sponsorship from Wayne Enterprises. A man like him was able to make requests, of course. Just like that little tour around the asylum. Anyone else would be laughed at for such proposition. She could understand all of that, but Wayne having interest in Joker? It was quite strange.

"I've heard the Joker is tough to work out," he uttered. "The worst of the worst."

"So it seems, yes."

"What do you think?"

She took a moment to answer.

"I think he's no madman," she said and he frowned, but let her continue. "As a matter of fact, I think he's saner than any of us. He takes advantage of it, he's aware of the state of his mind. He's able to see things an average man cannot," she paused to take a breath.

Bruce was smiling again, corners of his mouth raised slightly. he wasn't judging Harleen. He acknowledged her opinion without giving her odd looks. She appreciated that.

"Interesting," he admitted lightly. "Never heard of that one before."

Harleen smirked ans hid her blushing face behind a curtain made from her hair. He wasn't being subtle at all. She liked that. Annoying Arkham was even more enjoyable. Quinzel wondered if the old man would explode eventually. She finally got it. Wayne was giving money to Arkham in exchange for granting his every wish. Every time Bruce arrived at the asylum he'd have to be treated like a prince. No protests allowed. Jeremiah was so upset because he was afraid he'd do or say something wrong, which could cause the money to disappear from his account. Wayne was playing with him.

"Would you like to see Joker?" Jeremiah grumbled.

"Um, I'm attending a meeting in an hour. Maybe next time."

The director's face twitched at the man's refusal. Wayne kissed Harleen's palm and two men left. There was still some time left, so Quinzel stopped by cafeteria, got some coffee and went back to her office. She finished placing the books on shelves and went to see Ariadna to ask her if she was up for a meeting with Harleen. They postponed it for the next day. The she headed for her session with Joker. When she came into the room, he was pacing around. Just as usually they sat together on the settee. He was not very talkative that day, so they began to play 21 questions. That game seemed to excite the clown.

"What is your ultimate goal?" she was first to ask.

"To make people laugh. What is yours?"

"To help people. Why do you constantly battle Batman?"

"It's fun. What is that perfume?"

"It's my shower gel. If you were an animal for one day what would you be?"

"A hawk. Are you from Jersey?"

"No, I'm from Brooklyn. Who was your first victim?"

He replied after a while this time. "Someone who deserved it. But you're a Gotham girl, eh?"

"Yes. What come to your mind when you think of early years of your life?"

Joker sighed deeply. His face twisted in an ugly grimace as he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. What was it that made him so angry?

"What's wrong, mister J?" Harleen asked softly.

"What's wrong, what's wrong, what's wrong..." he drawled. "What is wrong, doctor?"

For a second she was left confused, but she soon realized what she'd asked him about. Talking about clown's childhood or anything related to events before his 'transformation' was not a good idea. He resented memories and Quinzel understood. She had been blocking the painful images from her head for a long period. She slapped herself inwardly. She wished to comfort him in some way, but she had no idea what to do. Words weren't an option, she didn't want to anger him any further.

So Quinzel stopped thinking and kissed him.

She grabbed his pale, thin face as she brought her slightly chapped lips to his. The sensation was so strange! He cheeks felt warm and delicate under her touch, same as his mouth. The doctor squeezed her eyes tightly and pressed harder when she'd got no reaction. Then he purred loudly and pressed back. She felt his hands gently touch her jaw to move to her neck.

But the charm was broken when a huge pressure kept her from breathing. Harleen freed herself from the kiss to catch some air. He was chocking her! That thought horrified her as she clawed at his arms, trying to get away. Joker squeezed even stronger with a maniac grin on his red lips. He pushed Harleen down, so she was laying down on the settee. He settled between her legs.

Quinzel stopped moving. If he was going to kill her he'd do it. No point fighting him. So she let her arms fall down to her sides and she went slack. She began to feel dizzy and black spots appeared in her sight, making her sleepy. She closed her eyes ans started to descend into darkness.

Suddenly, the pressure went away. Quinzel gasped, filling her lungs with precious air. She looked at Joker silently. His face had changed. The anger was gone. His steel eyes stared at her impassively, his jaw was wide open with the metal grill visible.

"Sorry, doc. It was just a joke."


	11. Chapter 11

The place felt too small and crammed. There were way too many people. Adults, kids, students, office workers. All of them stealing air and space that she desperately needed. The burgundy turtleneck she was wearing made her so sweaty and uncomfortable, she couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't take it off without attracting concerned stares. It'd been a few days since the last time she saw Joker, a few horrible days.

It had been extremely difficult to keep her neck covered. At first she'd used her hair, but it wasn't efficient. Then she'd switched to a scarf. However, you can have a cold only for so long. Finally, she'd dug up some of her old sweaters from the closet and stretched the fabric over her throat. Of course, people noticed, they always do.

"Huh? What's that, doc? Lover's bite?" Walker mocked her.

Quinzel had had no intentions of telling anybody about the bruises. Firstly, because she had had no one to talk to. Secondly, if someone knew they'd react in the same, annoying way, by not listening to her.

And then she'd thought of doctor Leland. That woman had been nothing but understanding, she'd surely be a suitable person to give a piece of advice. So the young doctor had called Leland to arrange a meeting. She had picked a cafe, but as she was sitting in there, it seemed like a bad spot.

Leland arrived at five sharp. She looked perfect as always. Harleen wondered how long it had taken her to be so flawless. And the woman could sense something was wrong, but waited until the blonde was ready to speak.

"It's about the Joker," she eventually murmured.

"I've figured as much," Leland replied. "Look, whatever it is I'm sure we'll-" She didn't get to finish her thought because Harleen uncovered her purple neck. Her eyes widened as they took in what was in front of them. A short gasp escaped the dark skinned woman's parted lips. She looked terrified.

Quinzel hung her head low in shame as she hid the bruises. She'd expected that. Total shock, horror, disgust. She began to pick at her sweater nervously. Question was, what was she going to do next? Say 'told you so'? Yell? Call her stupid?

None of those things happened.

Joan covered her mouth with her palm, fear still present in the expression she'd made. That irritated Harleen. The older woman was not supposed to pity her. She could handle the scolding, but the worry? She'd rather be swallowed down by the ground.

"God, Harleen! What's happened?"

She had two options - tell the whole truth, get fired and sent to live with the crazies, or omit several details and stay safe to some extent. She opted for the latter, she was already deep in shit.

"I-I had a session with Joker on Monday," Harleen uttered. "I said something wrong, he got angry and then-" she pointed at her neck half-heartedly.

She described what'd happened in couple of sentences, but it was so much more. Not only because of the kiss. It was about what'd occured after it. He could've strangled and dumped her lifeless body in front of the guards, but no. That'd be too easy. Killing the young, beautiful, silly doctor right away? That's no fun at all! He had let her go and wasn't letting her slip away any time soon. The problem was, she had no idea what he was planning. Or how long he would want to have her as his toy.

"Wha- you said something wrong? What do you mean?"

"It's not important right now. I didn't call you to hear what an idiot I am," Quinzel said quietly. "I know I'm screwed. Just tell me what to do."

"Does anyone else know?"

"No. Well-I've thought of speaking with doctor Anath."

Joan shook her head and glared outside the big window they were sitting by. Her full lips turned into a thin line, her palms were clasped together tightly. When she looked at Quinzel, her expression softened a bit.

"You must tell Jeremiah."

The blonde hid her pained face in her hands. "If I tell him he'll-he'll make sure I never see J ever again," she groaned bitterly. "God knows what he'll do."

She wasn't exactly sure what had made Arkham be that way. When she first arrived at the Asylum a few months ago, he was very eloquent, never showed any signs of dislike towards her person. He started to behave intolerably when Quinzel had made some progress with the clown. Judging by his reactions during the tour with Wayne, he did not like being anywhere else than in the spotlight. She wasn't certain if the old man liked anything but himself.

"You asked me to tell you what to do, so I did," Joan opposed with a frown. "And with that look on your face, you'll not listen to a word I say."

"Probably not," she murmured back and sighed heavily. "But promise me-"

"No, Harleen."

"Promise you won't say anything until I figure this out."

"What's to figure out?"

"Please."

Harleen was walking down the stairs to the cell block, still wearing that damn turtleneck. Her high heels were making an annoying clicking sound, which echoed in her head. Was she scared? No. She wasn't scared of mister J, but rather what he'd say. She picked up the pace, unable to wait anymore. There was a guard with a scar on his jaw standing next to the gate. He let her through, but followed her. Just for security. You never know what those freaks could do.

Quinzel inhaled deeply when she finally saw him. She could hear blood flow through her veins, making her flush. She felt like laughing. He was on his feet and leaped towards her, but the glass wall kept him away from the blonde. The clown pressed himself against the glass, squishing his nose and cheeks on it. A grin never left his bright red lips.

"Good evening, doctor Quinzel," he growled. "How nice of you to stop by."

"Hello, mister J," she replied cheerfully.

"Come closer," he mumbled and a foggy spot appeared on the wall near his mouth. "Can't hear ya!"

Harleen took two steps forward. Her face turned even more pink under his lingering gaze. He shifted his eyes to her slim neck for a second and moaned loudly.

"Pretty sweater you got here."

Quinzel shivered.

"Mister J, I'm here because we won't be seeing each other for a few days."

His face fell. He wasn't smiling anymore and it looked quite comical. He was like a pouting child who didn't get to eat his favourite candy.

"Oh, yeah?"

"But I'll be back on Tuesday."

Joker was staring at her neck again. His jaw went slack and he began to breath heavily. Harleen had wet patches under her armpits at that point. She pondered how long she could stand it before she eventually fell apart into million tiny pieces. Not very long presumably.

"Show me," Joker whispered. "Come on, baby."

Her heart skipped a bit and her palms twitched. Somehow it felt very intimate. She was a canvas, he was a painter. Her delicate skin changed colours as he wished. Brush strokes equaled the pressure of his long fingers, which had created a masterpiece illustrating his beautiful, chaotic mind. Harleen raised her right palm and grabbed collar of the turtleneck on her. She yanked down the fabric, baring her throat to his hungry eyes. The skin was stained with thin, purple bruises that started to fade. They contrasted greatly against the alabaster background.

"Beautiful... Purple suits you, my harlequin," the clown purred. He smiled the Smile that terrified her so much. The doctor shuddered as her chest was going up and down rapidly.

The guard cleared his throat. "Miss?"

Quinzel jumped up and quickly covered her neck, woken up from an amazing dream. If someone told her a few months earlier that she'd be aroused by bruises... She almost chuckled at that thought.

"Shut up, Jerry!" Joker barked. The man pressed his back on the concrete wall behind him with a stumble and shaky hands. The clown turned to Quinzel with a smirk. He made a kissy face.

Harleen drove to her apartment slowly, she wasn't in a rush. She glanced curiously at the Christmas decorations, which had been hung up the night before. Snowflakes, snowmen, blinking lights, you name it. It wasn't even December yet... The streets of Gotham were busy, full of people shopping in the last minute, trying to make Thanksgiving better than last year. With the harvest holiday came a long weekend. That meant Harleen would be stuck in her flat for four days.

She stopped by a liquor store to buy two bottles of red wine and then she bought some groceries, her fridge was looking pretty sad and empty. Once she was home, she dumped everything in the kitchen. With a deep sigh of happiness the doctor took off her clothes and jumped into a shower. Hot water burned her skin, creating a delicious sensation. Soon after all of the tension was gone and she left the room full of steam.

On the Thanksgiving day Harleen prepared a small dinner, out of tradition. She thought what she was grateful for as she sat down. At first nothing could come to her mind, but after a moment the blonde saw Joker's white face. If Nick Quinzel hadn't neglected his family and become a con man, she'd never pick psychiatry as her major. That'd ultimately lead to her never meeting the Clown-Prince of Crime. She would not realize how many mistakes she'd been making for years. Falling in love with the Joker was the best thing that happened to her. So she was grateful for that, at least.

Harleen spent the rest of the holidays in her apartment, reading and drinking wine. On Tuesday she was more than happy to be back in work. She'd worn a pink silk scarf and white shirt instead of a sweater. The bruises on her throat had turned into a lighter shade of a plum colour. As she headed for a session with Joker, one of the nurses came up to her. Arkham wanted to see the young doctor. Harleen made a displeased face, but turned back and went to director's office. She knocked on the door and went inside. Arkham was shuffling through some files.

"Sir, you wanted to see me."

"Your meetings with the clown are to be canceled for this week," he didn't bother with any greetings or being polite.

She didn't know what to say or how to react. Had that old man gone completely crazy? That situation was so absurd, she'd had enough.

"Why is that?" she drawled, desperately trying to keep calm.

"I've prescribed him ECT."

Quinzel gasped in shock. She couldn't believe what she just heard. Surely she misunderstood him, she had to. It was impossible to be true. "What?" she whispered.

Jeremiah huffed impatiently and shoved the papers into a cupboard. His hair was messy again.

"He's being transported for ECT," he repeated like she was stupid. "It's final."

After the first shock passed, Quinzel grew angrier and angrier. How dare he treat her that way? Like an idiotic, blonde bimbo, not an educated woman with a Ph.D. Did Leland talk to him after all? She clenched her fists. "Why haven't I been informed about that? I'm his psychiatrist."

"It's not up to you."

This had to be a dream. "What do you mean it's not up to me?!" her voice raised a little.

Arkham picked a sheet of paper and a pen to pass it to her.

"It's all set up. Sign this."

Quinzel looked at the document with horror. She had to sign it, right? Oh, how was she supposed to behave? There was no way of doing the right thing. If she didn't sign it she'd lose mister J, if she did sign it she'd hurt him. She needed to choose and she did. Harleen signed the paper as her heart and soul wept pitifully.


	12. Chapter 12

She ran as fast as she could, stumbling and panting. Her feet ached, her lungs burned, her heart would burst out of her chest anytime, but the doctor didn't care. She had to get to J, tell him everything. The time kept going and she wasn't getting any closer to him. The blonde made a sound of frustration and pushed a guard out of her way to spring into a hall next to the room where ECT had been performed so many times. Harleen leaned on the glass window with shaky hands and stared at the sight behind the glass. There was a lot of personnel, so she couldn't see him at first. They had probably needed a lot of people to drag him out there. Then she saw him. Joker was laying on the metal table, strapped to it with several leather belts. He wasn't moving, they had drugged him with succinylcholine to relax him. There was also a laryngeal mask attached to his face to let oxygen through to his brain. Tears welled up in her baby blue eyes, making her vision blurry.

Electroconvulsive therapy was generally used for curing manias and schizophrenia. It was performed three times a week for two-four weeks, it depended on a patient. Sessions took up to 10 minutes. Patients were given anesthetics such as methohexital, etomidate or thiopenal, sometimes atropine to inhibit salvation.

Harleen clawed at the glass, crying. She wasn't angry anymore. No, she was burning with scorching pain. Her heart had a gaping wound and she could do nothing to stop the bleeding. She wanted to take J into her arms, hug him, protect him from all of the worries of the world. More tears fell onto her cheeks as she saw a doctor picking up gloves and a nurse pressing some buttons on the machine. Quinzel pushed herself away from the window and left quickly. She wouldn't be able to watch. She ran again until she was in block B, far, far away from the tragedy she'd faced. The doctor sat on stairs. She let out a few breaths and tried to stop her legs from shaking so much. After a moment, which had felt like an eternity, she heard steps and looked up. It was Leland.

The dark skinned woman had a strange expression, a mix of concern and anger.

"How could you?" Quinzel snarled at her.

Joan opened her mouth, but said nothing. The blonde scoffed bitterly. It was better if she kept her mouth shut, no words would be able to soothe the pain. When it comes to the heart, everyone's for themselves, right?

"Harleen-" she heard, as she walked away.

The next day Quinzel met with Walker for the last time to tell her she'd be transported into a different establishment outside Gotham. It had some free places for inmates from other cities, as there wasn't as much criminals. So Walker, Paul Mars and some others were to be out of Arkham Asylum till Friday. Psychiatrists of said inmates were supposed to send a full diagnosis of their patients to the personnel of the prison. Harleen wouldn't see Joker for the rest of the week or even longer, so she had loads of free time.

"I don't wanna leave!" Walker protested.

"It's not my call."

The older woman made a face. "What a load of bullshit."

The doctor opened up files of her patient, fixing her scarf. That woman, who looked seemingly inoffensive, had a lot of baggage. She started from the very start. Ariadna had been sexually abused since the age of 10. When she was 15 her step father raped and beaten her up before doing the same to her 12-year-old sister. Those events had caused her to develop PTSD and phobias. However, her fears did not stop her from interacting with her victims, so Quinzel guessed said androphobia involved older men resembling Walker's abuser. The woman was terrified of the male guards. Later on she'd developed a bipolar disorder, which had led to her being captured, but she'd been able to kill four men before that.

Harleen looked at Ariadna picking at her nails.

"I guess you have every right to be mad."

"I do?" Walker shrugged. "Right, I do! I won't be seeing you, doc. That's a real fucking shame."

The blonde grinned at the cynicism.

"They won't go as easy on you."

"Like I said, a real fucking shame."

"You're lucky you never got a turn on electroshock therapy," Quinzel replied coolly and closed the file case. "This is the last time we see each other. Try to keep out of trouble."

The doctor spent the week busily. She wasn't able to think too much, which was good. She had had couple of sessions accompanied by doctor Serrano with some of the inmates. Then she had had to write reports and send them to Arkham. Lastly, she'd written a mail to the establishment outside Gotham discussing Ariadna Walker.

On Thursday morning the weather was awful, to say the least. It was raining heavily, the wind was blowing. Harleen was sitting in her office, studying her throat. The skin was still stained with marks, but they had faded out a little more. She had to cover her neck for a few more days. The blonde put down a small mirror and looked at the window. Rain was making it impossible to see anything, the noise was piercing. She walked to the window and tried to make out what was happening outside. She could see figures with black umbrellas. It was time for Walker and others to go.

It got worse during the weekend. Quinzel's mood went to the rock bottom. Without all the work to keep her occupied, she felt like a ghost. She was leaving her bed only to go to the bathroom or eat. Her mind had got swarmed with persistent thoughts and what if's. Would J ever forgive her?

Quinzel had to eventually leave her flat, otherwise she'd go completely mad. She combed her golden hair, put on a coat and boots and left. She had some problems with locking the door because of how shaky her palms had been. It wouldn't stop raining, but she didn't bother with bringing an umbrella. The doctor began to walk around aimlessly. Ice cold water was falling on her face and behind the collar of her coat. Her boots were making unpleasant, wet sounds.

Harleen halted when she saw two men and a child across the road. The men were arguing and the kid was watching them from the side. She could see herself in its place. It'd happened so many years ago, but she still remembered as if it had been yesterday. Quinzel was seven, Barry not much younger than her. They were standing in front of a grocery store near their flat. It was a very cold October afternoon, their cheeks had turned bright red. Nick Quinzel had been talking with some stranger for some time before turning to them. He wasn't grinning like he had always done. He knelt in front of them with a sigh.

"I gotta go, kiddos," he muttered, playing with his fingers.

He had to go to New York. His friend had found him a good job, a real good one! He'd come back with loads of cash in no time! Barry stared at his father dumbly, but Harleen knew what it meant. The man had been disappearing since she could remember, but he'd always return. She hated the constant, unfulfilled promises.

"You're a smart gal, Harls. Take care of your mom and your brothers, yeah?"

Her mother had been furious, yelling and throwing things, then she'd started to cry. Charlie wasn't even born yet and it was so hard to get by. Nick had vanished for three months and came back after Christmas. He apologized, brought a bunch of presents, joked around. He also brought lots of cash. Her mother knew it had been money that he had earned illegally. She kept her mouth shut, though. So when Kathryn went to high school and Nick had left once again to serve his sentence in prison, the woman had no choice but to work as a cleaning lady days and nights. Because of that Harleen and her siblings were left alone quite often. During those periods Kathryn acted as the big sister. Some nights Harleen wasn't able to sleep, when her sister had invited her boyfriend over. The noises and moans were too loud. One time Luke had been woken up, too.

"Oh, Jesus! What the fuck!"

"Get out!"

Harleen looked out of her room to see her sister and her goon scramble up to put on some clothes. They were both blushing.

"Luke, what's wrong?" she asked quietly.

"I'm thirsty," the boy whimpered.

The blonde girl grabbed his hand and went to the kitchen, ignoring the dressing couple. She took out a carton of orange juice and poured some for her brother. He had white goo in his eyes and a sleepy face, he was adorable.

"Wait, James!" came out of the hall, then there was a loud 'bang' and silence.

The elder sister stormed into the room with a furious expression, her long flying around wildly. She stared at her siblings for a moment and sat down eventually.

"You shouldn't have brought that asshole here."

"Shut up, Harleen. Shut your mouth."

The three of them sat in silence, not counting the slurping sounds Luke was making. Kathryn had closed her eyes. She looked tired. She had hickeys all over her neck and red splotches on her cheeks. Between her trying to take care of them and trying to study, she had no time for herself. That had turned her into a mean bitch.

"I'm so fucking done with you damn brats," she mumbled. "You good?"

Luke nodded and licked his lips. Kathryn wiped his mouth roughly. She pushed him and told him to get out from her sight. Harleen did the same.

After some time her father had come back. Her mother had prepared dinner, the whole family sat down to eat. It had to be spring. Kathryn suddenly stood up from her seat and her ridiculous pigtails bounced on her shoulders.

"Sit down," Nick muttered, his good mood gone.

"Fuck you!" she spat out.

Harleen did not flinch when her sister had got slapped, but her brothers did. She patted Charlie's head softly and noticed her mother's expressions of pure fear.

The kid no the street was gone when she blinked.


	13. Chapter 13

Harleen had often found herself thinking about the future when she was in college. She'd won several competitions, many medals had been hung on the walls of her dorm room. While being very good at gymnastics, she hadn't thought about it as her potential career. Psychiatry was always her main goal and when she'd met Guy, she'd found herself a person of the same interests. Falling in love with the man wasn't in her plans. She'd never fallen for anyone. Sure, the blonde had had some flings, but nothing serious. So when she'd realized Guy felt the same about her, it made her quite happy, as he was the first person to get close to her. Him being a free soul and her being a control freak never stood between them. It actually helped them grow even closer. Thanks to Guy Harleen met Anne and that idiot Jimmy.

Naturally, her plans had changed, too. After college they'd rent a flat, get married, have kids, grow old together. Would she be able to have such luxuries now? No, of course not. She never regretted her choices, though. She'd throw away all that sweet, family crap any second for J. No one could tear them apart.

Avoiding Leland was hard, but not impossible. Harleen had began to hang out more with the other colleagues, doctor Anath and Jane Goldblum. She'd also continued to work with doctor Serrano. Time seemed to flow faster that way. After almost two weeks she had been permitted to see Joker again. He was still getting electroshock treatment. She'd tried to smile in the most convincing way, but failed right before she left the office. Her bruises had finally disappeared.

Joker looked miserable, sitting curled up in a straitjacket. They were back in the ugly, empty session room again. He'd lost some weight, skin on his face was stretched over his cheekbones unnaturally. The bright green hair was messy. There were marks on his throat and left cheek, a result of resistance. He did not speak at all. She asked him a few questions, but all she got was silence. He was staring at some random point the whole time. The second time they met, he looked a bit better. He also started to talk.

"How am I feeling?" he murmured quietly. "Let's see... My brain has turned into mush... But you're here with me," he added with a weak smile.

ECT was generally safe, but some side effects could occur, such as confusion, memory loss, nausea, headache, jaw pain or muscle ache.

"I understand you might feel out of it, mister J. It'll pass soon," she reassured him.

"Oh, no, no, no," her rolled his head with closed eyes. "This feels like a dream. Is it a dream?"

Quinzel's heart was struck with a sharp knife.

"No, mister J. It's not."

He looked at her puzzled. Drool started to drip out of his parted lips. The doctor hastily took out a tissue and wiped his chin gently. A few strands of his hair had fallen onto his forehead, she pushed them back. Memory loss in his case had turned out to be more severe then she'd anticipated. It usually lasted for a couple of days. She smiled hesitantly.

"You, you, you... you were gone," Joker mumbled accusingly.

It was unbearable to look at his sad, slumped figure. She wasn't there for him when he needed her the most. But she'd promised herself that it'd never happen again, no matter what. There were stuck together, like two pieces of a puzzle, perfectly matched. His crazy was hers.

She was supposed to milk something out of the clown. Anything at all. Arkham hadn't been able to get him to utter a single word. The man had told her he wanted to wait before the next ECT session. He had kept insisting that the treatment had worked on J. His aggression was subdued. He was the perfect proof that ECT was highly effective. She wasn't so sure about that.

"Are you feeling better? Medication should've helped with your pains by now."

"I feel great," growled. "I want to kill someone."

Harleen froze. Not because of his comment, she was used to his gimmicks. She remembered she'd been informed that she'd have a session with Victor Zsasz, the extremely dangerous mass murderer who had manipulated Jeremiah himself years ago. Doctor Serrano would assist her. He'd been placed in the Asylum again not so long ago. The serial killer was making everybody uncomfortable, with a few exceptions. To be frank, Harleen was pleased with any assignments as long as she was far away from Leland. Fortunately or unfortunately, Zsasz got put into solitary the next day for hurting a nurse. Quinzel was stuck with the clown, but she didn't dare complain.

Before another meeting with the Clown-Prince of Crime, she decided to go to the basement storage where belongings of the inmates were stored. She'd been thinking about J, his foul mood and a way to make him feel better. She'd of course asked Arkham for permission beforehand. Barnes welcomed her by the gate. The underground corridors were cold and the air was moist. She was led to the farthest room. It was dimly lit with rows of shelves. There were dozens of small, cardboard boxes laying and getting dustier with time.

"Number of the patient."

"0801."

Barnes dove into the maze to find the right box and Harleen just stood there awkwardly. The man was in his 30's, tall, muscled, tanned. He was one of the nicer people in the Asylum. He always made sure to send a smile towards the young doctor. He emerged after a while, holding a box with numbers on it next to a pen written 'name unknown'. Harleen gently took it and placed it on the nearest table, then she opened it. Inside of it were a few knives, a gun, a fancy pinky ring and, quite unexpectedly, a plush kitten. She huffed in amusement.

"Who would've thought, huh?" the orderly muttered.

Mister J was in much better condition that day. His ECT sessions had ended at last and Arkham would leave them alone for some time hopefully. She'd been a bit late, her notebook under her armpit, a cup of coffee in hand and the surprise in the pocket of the coat she was wearing. He actually grinned at her when she'd come in. Her heart was bursting with joy.

"Good afternoon, mister J."

"Hello," he purred.

Harleen opened up her notes and scribbled down several sentences. Finally things were working out. She'd almost given up and that was unusual of her. She'd be strong for J. Crying and grinding teeth hadn't helped her much.

"Do you still feel a need to kill?"

"I'm always up for some bloodshed."

"Did you have the same thoughts during sessions with doctor Arkham?"

Joker rolled his eyes.

"There are two types of people in this world," he said coolly. "That old man is the cowardly, stupid, crippled kind. He believes he has some sort of genius sixth sense."

"I presume you're the other type."

He only shrugged briefly. Harleen started noting again. 'Extreme narcissism has appeared once more. The patient does not seem to respect human behaviour. He thinks of himself as the bigger being, above anyone else. He categorizes people into types."

"So you're implying his methods are not adequate?"

"That's not what I said," he shook his head. "He's-he's so sure of his ridiculous actions being the only right solution he doesn't realize he's no better than any of those freaks sitting in their cells."

The doctor skinned as she bit her lip. 'He doubts his doctor's genuineness."

"What about Batman?"

Joker didn't respond, but his face changed slightly. He wrinkled his nose. She cleared her throat, looking at him from under her lashes.

"He's done so much good for Gotham. Isn't he supposed to be called a hero?"

The clown leaned back in his chair with bewilderment written on his expression. He was being dramatic, but that was exactly what she wanted. No one knew what had happened that made the two men hate each other. Maybe nothing had occurred between them at all.

"Batman..." Joker said that name with such distaste. "He's nothing special. Just some little boy, hiding behind a mask, beating up thugs."

"What if he revealed his identity?"

"It doesn't matter who he is. He's Batman, I'm the Joker. He won't kill me because of his self righteousness and I won't kill him because he's fun. We'll go on like this forever."

Batman's true persona probably didn't matter that much, but Harleen couldn't help but feel curious about Gotham's vigilante. The whole city felt the same, including every criminal and police officer who wanted his head on a stick. But not Joker. 'The patient appears to gain pleasure out of fighting law. There does not seem to be any deeper meaning to his actions.'

"He does what he does out of genuine will to secure this city, but you see something more," she said very interested.

Joker made a low sound of content.

"Doctor Quinzel, you know, I live for these moments with you," he murmured.

She found herself blushing. He was doing it again, making her heart flutter as if she'd been a teenage girl. She was so weak when it came to his charming personality. The doctor remembered about the present in her pocket. She reached for it and he noticed.

"What do you got?"

"I got your kitty," she said proudly.

She smiled brightly, showing him the plushie and making its paws move. He stared at it with wide eyes. He was happy, too!

"So thoughtful," the clown stated simply. Harleen put the kitty on the table. She could cheer him up, even if it was done with something silly as a stuffed toy. "C'mere. Oh, come to daddy."

She shivered, but obeyed him. She put her elbows on the surface and leaned in. Her breath quickened.

"They're watching us," she whispered.

"Let them watch."

Harleen giggled. Their noses brushed briefly and then she realized how close they were. His thin, pale face was so beautiful. She could see the tiny specks in his grey irises. He was looking at her intensely, making the girl tremble. Inhaling his sweet fragrance she felt home, right where she belonged. Their lips met softly just for a second before she sat back down. Harleen was flushed all over her face and neck. She grinned shyly as she looked down, trying to avoid his hypnotic graze. Blood was pulsing loudly in her ears. The doctor tucked away a strand of golden hair. Joker shifted in his chair with his mouth slightly opened.

"There is something you could do for me, doctor."

"Anything. I mean, yeah."

"I need a machine gun," he uttered with a straight face.

Quinzel raised her brows surprised. Was he really asking her for a gun? She almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation. "A machine gun?" she asked for clarifiaction.

The clown spread his lips in the Smile, but this time it looked more terrifying. Was he testing her? If he wanted a firearm then he had planned something. An escape? Joker had been put in the Asylum around five months ago. Was that enough to bore the Clown-Prince of Crime? If yes, would she dare help him? The truth was that he'd escape with our without her. He started to chuckle and she frowned.

"Oh, pumpkin! I just realized something!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "You still haven't met my ole pal!"

Right, the friend.

"You two should at least have lunch!"

"I'd love to," she said softly.

"Jonny boy may seem like a brooding kinda guy, but he's a real gentleman."

Harleen scribbled down that name. Well, that wasn't a lot...

"Uh, Harls, that 'h' is silent."

She crossed it out and was left with 'Jonny'. Again, there were dozens of Johns, Jonnys or Jonathans in Gotham and even more outside the city. The unclearness was very annoying. Joker noticed her displeased expression and pouted.

"I'll give ya a hint," he cooed. "Jonny Jonny likes his women cold."


	14. Chapter 14

Barry Quinzel was undoubtedly a complete opposite of his father, a good-hearted, honest, responsible person. Growing up in Brooklyn had taught him how to endure and survive. He was a good boy, listening to his sisters, keeping the boys quiet when their mother had returned home after a long day at work. He finished high school with great marks, maybe not as fantastic as Harleen's, but they were good enough. Later he graduated from college and got accepted into a police academy. He wanted to protect those who were weak, like his mother. He married a beatiful woman and lived the sweet life with the kids. Barry was a perfect example of a perfect man and that was why Quinzel didn't want to call him. The last time they saw each other was during his graduation ceremony.

Besides, she had other matters to worry about. She had actually considered helping Joker in whatever he'd planned. He'd told her to find his 'friend', Jonny. However, she had nothing to work with. She wouldn't be able to locate that man by herself. And if she helped the clown she'd risk everything she'd achieved so far, her job and safe life. She loved him, but he did not feel the same. Those sudden, grim thoughts made her uneasy. She was pacing around her apartment with a phone in her shaky palms.

Even if he didn't love her she would still help him. For some reason she felt a need to do whatever he wished, like he'd put a spell on her mind and body. She was still struggling against it, but her will was getting weaker and weaker. Just a few months back she was curious about him, but kept her distance. He made her angry when he started to talk about her father during one of their first sessions. She got mad because the painful memories came in a giant tide, suffocating her and because everything he'd said was true. Quinzel just didn't want to admit that the psychopatic criminal knew her better then her own family. He'd been put through a fair share of crap, too. That was why she started to regard him differently, she almost pitied him. The police detested him, the citizens of Gotham feared him and she sympathized with him.

Harleen sat down and dailed the number written on a crumbled piece of paper. She waited while listening to the beating of her heart. The clock in the kitchen was ticking loudly. After a couple of beeps a muffled 'hello' came from the speaker. The blonde shuddered and blinked.

"Hey, little brother."

There was a rustling. "Hey, Harls," he sounded surprised.

She didn't blame him. It was a miracle he still wanted to speak with her. She cleared her throat awkwardly, not knowing what to say. How was she supposed to begin? You don't ask your cop brother to aid you in breaking a criminal out of an asylum everyday. So she started out safely.

"How are you?"

"Good. I'm good. You?"

"I'm fine."

It was so awful. When they were kids it was hard to separate them. They used to be so close and still after all they had been through having a normal conversation was impossible.

"I've been thinking... Christmas is near so maybe I could stop by?" she suggested.

"Um, that'd be great."

Quinzel rubbed her face, stiffling a sigh.

"But there's something else. Spill it, Harls."

Barry could always see through her. He knew she wasn't just calling about something as silly as a family reunion, but he wasn't judging her. He simply acknowledged the fact that his sister wasn't close to him anymore. At least she called from time to time, unlike Katie.

It took her some time to utter an answer, her throat was clogged.

"I have a favor to ask," she finally mumbled. "I need you to find a person for me."

It sounded so stupid, but that was esentially what she wanted from her brother. She'd figured since he was a cop he had access to the police database. He could search for any Jonnys and give her some infromation about the man. She only needed a surname and his current location. She also knew asking for such thing was extremely risky, but she was ready to take that step. Barry used to be stationed in Gotham before he moved two years ago, so contacting his old colleagues shouldn't be a problem. It would be suspicious and strange if Harleen asked about it.

She hesitated when he inquired why she wanted all that information.

"He's an acquaintance of my patient. I'd like to talk with him, he could really help progress the treatment."

"And you're asking me to do it because...?"

"My boss might not have approved of it," she explained shortly.

Barry sighed heavily and her heart dropped. Harleen bit onto her knuckles hard and waited for his response. She was ready for the refusal. She would find another way. She'd walk to every night club in Gotham if she had to.

"Look, I can't give you any data," Barry stated. "I'm not allowed to. You gotta understand."

"I need to find this guy!" she was getting desperate.

An uncomfortable silence hung between the siblings. Harleen closed her eyes tightly and waited. Honestly, she was fine with being a selfish bitch. She spent most of her life relying on no one but herself, just like her sister and brothers. However, she'd been able to figure out what would make Barry happy and satisfied. He valued family above everything else. Harleen had to visit his household, smile widely and pretend to have a great time. He'd give her what she'd asked for and that would be the last time he ever saw her.

"We'll talk about it when you get here," he ended their conversation.

She tossed the phone on the sofa and let out a huge breath of relief. 'It could've gone worse,' she thought.

It was Friday. If she left now she'd be there in the evening. It would take more or less three hours without any stops. She had to purchase some presents for kids, too. The blonde headed for the kitchen, turned on her loyal coffee machine and began packing her bag. She put in keys, cash from the hidden spot and extra clothes. When she went back to the kitchen, the coffee had been ready. She poured the hot liquid into a thermos. Having checked if everything was in place, she put on boots and took her coat under her arm with the full bag on her left shoulder. She'd locked the doors before going to the parking lot.

Outside was very cold and windy. Although it wasn't snowing the temperature had dropped mercilessly low. The wind was blowing harshly in her face, making her scowl at the stinging sensation. Winters in Gotham were always hard to survive through. Snow blizzards had been the reason for many accidents and immobilisation of certain parts of the city in the past.

Harleen quickly went to her car, immeditaly turning on the heating. She rubbed her cold palms together. When she was driving to the nearest shopping mall, she concluded that getting Barry to do what she'd asked for wouldn't be as easy as she had thought originally. He wasn't a little boy who listened to everything she said. His answer to her request was so vague. A few cute smiles could be not enough. The doctor bit her lip in frustration.

When they were kids Barry followed her everywhere like a lost puppy. Luke and Charlie did the same, but the blonde got along better with the eldest boy. They all had obeyed Kathryn up until her departure. After that Harleen became the big sister, whose wishes were the brothers' orders. At first it was annoying to have three boys behind her back, but she came to like it. It gave the girl a sense of power. She enjoyed controlling her brothers. Of course her authority kept getting smaller and smaller and Quinzel turned into a grumpy, older sister.

The mall was crowded with people shopping for the holidays. She didn't want to spend there any more time than she needed to. Grabbing a bunch of expensive looking comics and books seemed like a good idea as she recalled the kids liked to read. A medium sized, sparkly snowglobe caught her eye so the blonde took it, too.

She drove carefully as she was sipping coffee from the battered thermos. Songs playing on the radio, the setting sun and steady rumbling of the engine soothed the young woman's nerves. There had been some traffic at the beginning, but the road cleared up later. It allowed Quinzel to cross the New Jersey state rather quickly. Just as she had predicted she got to New York in over three hours. Her watch said it was five past four.

Barry lived in East Flatbush near Prospect Park. The address she'd written down told her to drive in the direction of Rogers Avenue. Quinzel managed to squeeze her auto in between two cars in front of the houses. It had gone dark. She grabbed her bag and the presents. Next she passed a man walking his dog out and cautiously walked up the stairs. She rang the buzzer while balancing things in her arms.

"Hello?" a feminine voice said.

"It's Harleen," she replied.

As a greeting the doctor got smothered with hugs. There was a lot of squealing, too. She saw Anne grinning. Her friend looked quite different. Her hair was longer and she was plumper. Nicky ran to the hall with a shocked face.

"Oh, shoot! It's really you!" he exclaimed.

The kids switched their attention to their gifts, Anne went to prepare tea and Barry led the doctor to the living room. He had changed, too. He was muscular and much taller than his sister. His sharp face was covered with a dark, yellow beard. They sat at the mahogany table. He coughed.

"Mind telling me what's up with your request?"

"I can't enter the criminal database."

"No, you can't. Why do you want to do it in a first place?"

"It's for my patient. I told you," she drawled irritated slightly.

Barry stood up and went to the next room. When he was back he gave her a sticky note. There were several names scribbled on it messily. Jonathan Crane, Jonathan Summers, Jonathan Gomez and Jonathan Frost. Harleen raised her brows. Her brother had helped her after all. None of those names rang a bell though. It would be difficult to pick out the man she was looking for. Well, Crane wasn't him for sure. The lunatic psychologist had gone missing a while ago.

"I've selcted a few candidates. Anything seems familiar?"

Harleen shook her head, glaring at the paper. It could be any of them. Then Joker's words echoed in her head, his 'hint'. She had thought it was just another wierd joke. He'd told her his friend 'liked his women cold." Although at that moment it sort of made sense. It was Jonny Frost, it had to be him. The blonde pointed on his name.

"This one," she hissed.

Anne walked into the room, carrying a tray with mugs, the kids following closely behind her. Barry took the piece of paper and stuffed it into his backpocket. He also excused himself. She was left with his wife and children. The brunette began explaining how busy her husband was, being a detective and all. She was proud of him, it showed.

Jenny had made her way onto her aunt's lap. The girl's curly hair was tickling Quinzel's nose. They all sat together, listening to enthusiastic Nicky's stories about super heroes. He liked the comics he'd got very much. Later on the children went to prepare themselves for bed and the doctor stayed with her friend. When she learned that the shy, sarcastic Anne married her brother, it wasn't much of a surprise, but the timing was. The wedding was held only two months after Anne's college graduation. Not long after that Nicky was born.

The women talked about everything and nothing. Harleen let her friend brag about her amazingly talented kids she was blessed with. Jenny was excellent with mathematics, but she was into ancient art as well. Nicky, on the other hand, felt the most confident surrounded by history books. Perfect children conceived by perfect parents.

Barry came back at nine. Harleen was fixing pillows on the matress Anne had given her with an embarassed smile. He tossed a grey folder onto her lap. It was thin and signed as 'Frost, Jonathan, NY'. There were black and white copies of Jonny's criminal record inside. It contained a picture, personal information, fingerprints and his criminal history.

"Thank you," she said, truly grateful.

Barry only skinned, his face a stone mask. He knew she'd leave once she got what she needed. He knew all along and the blonde felt almost guilty.

She didn't sleep well. Once it got bright outside she got up. She dressed in the clothes she'd brought with her and folded the blankets and sheets neatly. Having checked if everyone was asleep she slipped into the hall. Quinzel was about to grab her stuff when she heard a murmur. Jenny was standing there, wearing her pink pyjamas.

"Hey, goofball. Did I wake you up?"

The girl's lower lip trembled. "Can't you stay?"

"No, sweetie," the blonde shook her head. "Someone I love is waiting for me."


	15. Chapter 15

The inside of the car was cold and eerily quiet. She was drowning in silence, shivers kept going up her spine, annoyingly stabbing her back with millions of tiny, sharp needles. She huffed, glad it was all over. Looking at happy families alwyas made her queasy, let alone interacting with the members. She squinted at the snowglobe sitting on the seat next to her. For some reason she'd forgotten to give it to Jenny. It was heavy in her hand, filled with glitter swirling around the globe whenever it was shaken.

Ignoring physical needs turned out to be futile, she'd last eaten hours ago and it'd been just two slices of pizza. The growling in her stomach was loud and persistent. After a few moments of driving around she'd found a diner. She ordered waffles and coffee.

The folder was laying in front of Harleen, the name on it burning her eyes. She opened it. First thing that caught her eye was the picture in the right upper corner. The man had a bored expression. His eyes were hooded, his chin invisible under black scruff, couple of strands of hair fallen on his forehead. He looked rather ordinary. Nothing in his long face screamed 'the Joker's right hand'. You'd expect him to have a job as a office worker who also coached kids in his free time. Frost had been in jail several times for breaking and entering, assault and grand theft auto. Strandard stuff for a lowlife thug. What had had to happen to make him become connected with the psychotic clown? More importantly, what had it been that made him stay?

Harleen noticed someone coming her way. It was a scrawny, tall girl wearing a cream sweater. She was young, a high schooler working part time. She had shiny, dark curls and freckles. There was a small bump in her abdominal area.

"More coffee?" she asked lightly.

The doctor skinned and fresh liquid was poured into her cup. Unexpectedly, the girl sat down on the opposite side of Harleen. She was grinning.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"You've been sitting her for a while," she stated. "You look kinda lonely. Not local, huh?"

Quinzel raised her brows, not sure what she was getting on. Her bright, green eyes shifted to the papers. She was sweating, too. Her face was shiny. Harleen briefly wondered if the girl was a junkie hungry for a hit, bored out of her mind.

"Riley! Get back to work!" another waitress yelled.

The teenager rolled her eyes with a scowl. As she was passing the other woman she showed her a middle finger. Her attitude reminded the blonde of an older, edgy girl form high school. Guys had liked her and Quinzel had invied her for some time.

In the late afternoon, back in Gotham Harleen was looking around a suburban neighborhood. She'd followed an address written in the files. It was no surpirse that Frost had a wife or children. The white picket fences were quite a sight. Her target was a cream house with a large garden. It was well taken care of. Many vibrant plants decorated the yard. Quinzel passed the colourful sea and pressed the bell next to the white door. A handsome woman appeared in the door frame. She was around the doctor's age. She had auburn hair and full lips.

"Hello. I hope I'm not disturbing you."

The woman frowned slightly.

"I'm doctor Quinzel. I work at Arkham Asylum."

Something flashed through Frost wife's face, maybe irritation. There was a small crease between her brows.

"What do you want?" she asked coolly.

The doctor stiffled a sigh and cut straight to the chase. "Is your husband home?"

She had turned from annoyed to angry in a second. "He doesn't live here anymore," she drawled.

Harleen growled inwardly, but kept a neutral face. She really needed to find Frost fast. If he wasn't home then where was he? The man was like a ghost, unable to be tracked, like he didn't exist at all.

Mrs Frost pursed her lips. Talking about her husband was clearly not a pleasnt experience for whatever reason. "What'd he do this time?"

"I assure you he's done nothing wrong," the blonde said, but wasn't sure if that was the case. "Do you know where I could find him?"

"He's probbaly lazing around in that clown's club."

"Clown's club?"

"'Grin and bare it'".

The woman slammed the door in blonde's face. Well, something had happened between them and it definitely destroyed their relationship. Moreover, she wasn't wearing her wedding ring and when Quinzel had asked about Jonny she'd turned hostile. That woman was everything Sharon Quinzel could never be.

Back in the car Harleen hit her head on the steering wheel. She'd got all she needed and yet there was no sign of Frost. She was being led by her nose and it was getting tiring. The club was probably in the more obscure part of the city, filled with rats, trash and hungry children. She grimaced and drove away.

She found the place, but almost missed it. It was in the less nice neighborhood. Although it wasn't placed as deep into the hellish part of it as some hideouts. It had a huge, pink neon sign. She approached the enterance hesistantly, eyeing the two gorillas standing nearby. They looked at her with smirks.

"Hey, Barbie," one of them growled. "We're closed."

"I'd like to see Frost."

They cackled loudly and Harleen blushed. Someone like her coming to a place like this and making demands - really funny, right? She repeated herself. They weren't smiling anymore. A stumpy man came up to them, holding a cigarette in his mouth.

"The hell's goin' on?" he mumbled.

"This girl wants to see Frost."

The man turned to her and not so discreetly scanned her body. He snarled and spit on the ground.

"Joker sent me," Harleen replied angrily.

All three of them gaped at her with surprised expressions, as if she'd said she had three heads.

"Come on!" the stumpy told her and threw away his cigarette.

"Monty?" goon number one asked dumbly, but got ignored.

She was led inside. There was no music, only a few people pacing around. It smelled of smoke, but looked quite nice and expensive. There was a stage with a metal pole to the right and pink booths for privacy. They went upstairs. Monty pushed her towards the booths. She stumbled right before the man she was looking for. Frost wasn't much different from the photo she'd seen. His dark hair was slicked back and he was wearing a suit. He still had an emotionless mask on.

"Frost, this... girl said she wanted to see you," Monty barked.

Jonny raised his eyes, but said nothing. He regarded her, too. Though it didn't feel uncomfortable.

"The Joker sent her."

Frost's facade broke down. He sent off the stumpy man with a flick of a wrist. When they were alone he told her to sit down. She relaxed a bit. He squeezed her palm firmly. It was a time for her to speak so she cleared her throat and started telling him the whole story. The doctor told him that she worked at the Asylum and that Joker was her patient. The clown had planned an escpae, Frost was needed for that to happen. Him and the rest of the goons. The man didn't look like he trusted her fully, but she wasn't going to run away. Quinzel had made up her mind a long time ago and she wanted to be a part of the plan.

The main problem was to get the Joker's henchmen inside Arkham. They wouldn't be able to march in there without a persmisson. Harleen had to slide down her card against a scan everytime she arrived at work. Frost asked her about it.

"I can't give it to you," the doctor refused.

"We could do it the hard way then," he answered dryly.

The hard way meant explosions and chaos and she wanted to avoid that if possible. Still, she couldn't just hand over her ID to thugs.

Jonny shrugged. "I guess we have nothing to talk about."

Harleen had to say yes. Coming back to mister J empty handed was not an option. Frost clicked her fingers and a young man stood by his side. He was wearing a dirty raincoat. He blinked at her. She didn't have the entrance card with her so that guy was supposed to go with her to get it.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Jonny mumbled and he was gone.

The blonde walked the the outside with the weird guy and saw Monty for a second. He was stroking his moustache. She got into her car and drove. There was an auto following her the whole way. She kept glancing nervously in the mirrors. Having arrived at her destination Harleen had thought if she should let the man into her flat. She'd concluded she had no choice whatsoever.

"Come in," she muttered reluctantly.

Quinzel went to her bedroom to grab her ID. On the picture she was smiling innocently. The photo did not match her messy mind. She glanced at the baseball bat laying next to the drawer. The guy was looking around the hall grinning. She gave him the card shakily.

"No worries, doc," he said. "You'll get it back."

But that wasn't why she felt jumpy. When he finally left she slumped on the floor. They would hit, but when? Tomorrow? Harleen found herself chuckling. She'd actually succeded and proven herself to be useful.


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you for all your support so far.**

Harleen was never a nervous person, whenever she had had to write a test, show her flawless performance during the gymnastic championship or face her father. Sweaty hands, shakiness, twitchy eyes, she'd never experienced that. Same couldn't be said about her siblings. Charlie and Luke cringed everytime Kathryn had glared at them.

In that moment, however, she was scared. She was terrified and it confused her. At the same time some sort of excitement had crept into her restless heart. When Quinzel had looked at herself in the bathroom mirror it became evident the careful, proper Harleen was gone. The person in the mirror had taken her place. Someone new, but not unwelcome. She touched a flushed cheek to see if it was real. It was cold against her fingertips.

Swallowing a handful of pills had helped her sleep through the night. Barry hadn't contacted her as well. She was trying to write a report for Arkham regarding the Joker. The doctor wrote a few sentences, nothing new just to please Jermiah, while glancing out the window from time to time. The weird guy's car was not there or so she thought. When she had finished writing it started to rain. The news were talking about Bruce Wayne once again. He had donated to various charities. Nobody had seen Batman for days.

Quinzel got her ID back in the evening. Eating PB&J sandwiches had got boring after a couple of days and there was no wine in her cupboard. She was forced to leave her quiet, tiny nest. She was looking behind her shoulder, trying to see if a black cadillac was following her. There were only people unaware of her worries and chaotic thoughts. They had no idea she'd fallen for the Joker and got involved with his henchmen to break him out of the Asylum. She was getting paranoid.

The silly, blonde doctor was a pawn to carry out the message, not very important to the operation itself. If she got hurt no one would care or notice. Well, not right away. Having a plan B would certainly be a good idea. Groceries weren't the sole reason she'd went outside. Quinzel wanted to buy a gun.

A gun to protect herself in case of an emergency. She'd met a kid a while back who knew the right people. He'd been visiting his mother at Arkham and after her death he'd run away to live with his brother. Quinzel went to the usual spot, behind the old factory. It used to produce furniture. Years later it had become a home for young thieves, junkies and the homeless. No one bothered them because no one minded. They were fine with that.

The kid showed up not too long after she'd arrived. He had long hair, which covered his slim neck. As usual he was smiling.

"What's up, Harl?" he said cheerfully, using her first name.

She couldn't help stretching her lips in a grin. The kid had spunk.

"Oh, same old, same old. You got what I asked for?"

"Sure thing! I never disappoint."

He pulled a handgun from his pocket and handed it to her. It wasn't too heavy or too light, it fit almost perfectly in her palm. She wasn't an expert when it came to firearms, but she could tell a revolver from a semi-automatic pistol. This one was a browning. She kept her finger off the trigger and studied scratches on the frame.

"A nice one, huh?" he added while giving her bullets.

Quinzel paid for everything with cash. She hid the gun in her jacket. It was cold against her skin.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya!" the kid exclaimed and ran off.

Harleen didn't feel any better or safer then before she'd purchased the gun. There was something heavy inside her chest, a bad feeling. Forcing her breath to slow down, she made her way back to the car. The lock wouldn't budge and there was a rustle behind her. She exhaled quietly and spun around with the pistol in her hand.

The raincoat guy was standing in front of her with arms up in the air as if he was surrending. He had dirty hands. Behind him there was a lanky man wearing a leather jacket and sneakers. Somehow they had managed to follow her there undetected. Were they watching her all the time? She sudddenly got chills.

"Woah, easy there!"

Quinzel lowered the gun after a beat. A curse left her parched lips, but it sounded more like a sigh of relief. A few hairs that had escaped her ponytail tickled her lips. 'If only looks could kill,' she thought grimly.

The guy gave her the ID.

"Just like I promised," he murmured, winking. "Mister Frost is ready, you should be too. And don't wave that thing around, you might hurt yourself."

Monday finally came and the uneasy feeling stayed right by the doctor's side like a loyal friend. The night before she'd tried to find any differences in the entrance card. It still had 'staff' written in bold letters, her picture and signature, the Arkham stamp and a barcode. Nothing looked divergent, at least she hadn't been able to see anything like that.

The blonde behaved normally or how most people would behave. She'd greeted the orderlies, talked with Serrano about Zsasz and presented her report to Jeremiah. It was a sunny day therefore the blonde's mood had changed a bit. She'd allowed herself to forget about her position for a little while. That was until a huge explosion shook the whole building. It started.

Harleen realized with horror she'd left her gun in the car. There was another shake and sounds of shooting resonated through the Asylum. The young woman had no idea what to do. When people started yelling in desperation or pain, she blocked the door with a drawer. It'd taken her a lot of effort, it was quite heavy. After all the shouting ceased she pushed the furniture away and looked at the hall, trying to keep quiet. There was no one there. She went down to the medical wing. She'd passed many bodies laying on the floor littered with bullet shells and blood. The victims were patients, nurses, guards. Nobody had been spared. The doctor had halted when she'd seen a familiar face. Jane Goldblum had been shot multiple times in the chest and her body was twisted in an unnatural pose.

It became clear there was no way of escaping as she was making toward block B. She'd heard steps so she hid under a desk in the security office. With a shaky palm she covered her mouth. Soon the doctor saw two pairs of feet in elegant, black boots. Her red shirt was soaked with sweat. After a moment the feet moved. She shrieked in surprise when a face suddenly appeared in front of hers. It was Frost. He hauled her up and she hit her ankle. She kept squirming in his tight grip, but he was a six-foot-four muscular man. The other person was wearing a strange shark mask.

She got carried to the ECT room. Some of the patients were still running around. There was a tall figure hidden in the shadows.

"Got her, boss," Frost said. "Just where you said she'd be."

Joker emerged from the dark. He was smiling, his metal-capped teeth as always shone brightly, but it wasn't the smile he'd been showing her during their sessions. His shirt was missing. So many thoughts were in Harleen's head. So many questions that needed answers. Why was she there? What would they do to her? She was a lamb caged with a lion, left to be ripped into small pieces and devoured.

"Doctor Quinzel," he purred. "How nice of you to join us. You're looking..." he paused to scan her body. "Good enough to eat. Figuratively speaking, of course."

She inhaled slowly.

"I'm strictly vegan. At least today."

A person moaned in the hall next to the room. Joker threw his lean arms up as a sign of irritation. A growl came out of his lips and it sent shivers down her spine. He was being interrupted and he did not appriecate it.

"Frost, do me a favor, will you? Dump our pretty lady on the table."

The clown turned to take care of the moaner. Jonny pushed her onto the cold surface and started strapping her to it with leather belts.

"Get off me!" she screamed. "Get...!"

There was a loud, dull thud, more moaning and the clown came back. Frost stood by her side once he'd immobilized her. She tried to move again, but to no avail.

"What do we have here?"

And the show began once more. His voice sounded cheerful, his face was a different story though. Joker's skin was covered in sweat and there were tiny veins near his grey eyes as a result of not sleeping for a long time. He approached her in a few leaps and twisted the big lamp above so it was shinning on her. The light blinded Harleen. She blinked away the tears while getting back her sight.

"I did everything you said. I helped you," she pleaded, but regretted it right away.

Joker stuck his face mere inches from hers. He looked as if he couldn't comprehend what she'd just uttered. He was completely bewildered and his eyes rolled back.

"You helped me?" he asked slowly. "You helped me by erasing my mind of few, faded memories I had?!"

With every word he punched the table with his fists. It rattled and Quinzel shut her eyes tightly, evening her breath. She'd made him very, very angry.

"No, it wasn't me. It was them. They thought it'd cure you."

"Cure me, girl? Cure me out of my genius? My madness? Or they meant to cure my bad cold? You know I never got a damn blanket. I guess I had it coming after snapping that cute boy's neck long, long time ago."

Harleen was so shaken from his random outburst of violence.

"No, you left me in a black hole of rage and confusion. Is that the medicine you practise, doctor Quinzel?"

"I'm sorry," she could only whisper. "I tried to stop them."

He pouted. "I'm sure you did. Although I got a question I have to ask you, doctor. Did it ever cross your itty-bitty brain that simply trying would not be enough to prevent my grey matter from turning into mush?"

It was not fair. It was not fair that she'd been the one strapped to that table instead of Arkham. Everything that had happened up to that point was insignificant. Their sessions, her love for him, him opening her mind. She'd been toyed with and used. He'd got what he wanted and it was time to get rid of the blonde.

"What are you gonna do? You gonna kill me, mister J?"

"What?" Joker cupped his ear as if he hadn't heard her, then he hit his head couple times.

The Clown-Prince of Crime took the paddles from Frost and made sure she saw what was going to happen to her. Special gel would not cover the sea of pain that was about to crash onto her. No muscle relaxant would be given to Quinzel, but it wasn't really needed. She'd got her heart broken by the man she loved with all her being. He'd tossed her heart and stomped on it until there had been nothing left but a sad, pathetic stain on the dirty floor.

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you," he assured her. "I'm just gonna hurt ya... really, really bad."

And that was it. He would scar her just as he'd been scarred and there was nothing she could do about it. So Quinzel accepted the current situation as it was.

"You think so? Well, I can take it," she nodded to convince herself.

Joker cooed at her with a frown, then grabbed a leather strap and made it slap harshly.

"Open up, doll," he caressed her cheek gently while pushing the gag into her mouth. "I don't want you to break those perfect, porcelain-capped teeth when the juice hits your brain."

Despite her efforts Harleen began to panic, grinding her teeth and trembling. She saw Frost as he was leaning on the wall, expressionless like a statue. Her breathing was irregular, fists clenched painfully. The clown put the paddles to her temples.

'I love you,' Quinzel had thought before scorching pain shot through her exhausted body.


	17. Chapter 17

She tried to recall what exactly had happened, but her mind was not listening to her desperate pleas. Everything was a blur, shapes and colours mixed into a foggy curtain. There was only pain left. Her jaw ached, limbs were heavy and she wanted to sleep. Her face was wet from tears and drool.

She realized some people were in the room. They were shuffling around the young woman. She couldn't see thier faces, it was dark. The gag had been removed, the leather belts unstrapped and bright light blinded her. She squinted.

"She's conscious!"

"Jesus Christ, what the hell did they do to her?"

Fingers squeezed the doctor's wrist to check her weak pulse. Then Harleen was asked if she was able to hear, see, move. She only blinked. As she was being transported she tried once again to figure out what had happened. Overhearing the rescuers' conversation helped a little. The Joker was gone and he'd left a trial of bodies behind. A few survived, including the scarred doctor Quinzel. It had taken several hours to get inside the wrecked parts of the Asylum.

"It's alright, miss Quinzel. You're safe now."

An oxygen mask was put on her face and she became sleepy again. Suddenly, she felt a need to sing. A lullaby her mother used to sing began playing in her mind. Harleen started humming quietly to herself. It calmed her down slightly.

At a hospital she'd been given some painkillers and got her swollen ankle patched up. She fell asleep shortly after that. The Joker haunted Quinzel's dremas, laughing at her foolishness. It wasn't his usual dry chuckle. That was a loud, hysterical cackle, the kind that makes you clutch your tummy and wipe away tears. He was laughing as if she was the best punchline he'd ever seen. Or maybe it wasn't a dream? She wasn't sure.

Harleen didn't know how long she'd been out, but when she'd finally awoken there was a nasal cannula in her nostrils and a drip tube stuck to her forearm. She moved her fingers experimentally. They were a bit numb. A lot of people had come to ask, ask and ask.

First, a doctor had wanted to know if she'd been in any pain. Then there had been a check up to determine her mental state as she'd been shocked by 450 volts. They still had to make sure her brain wasn't damaged.

Next, the police detectives had questioned the blonde about the Joker's escape. She'd mumbled something about him being secretive. They had told her the henchmen had had used an entrance card only employees of the Asylum possessed.

"Do you think your ID could have been taken?"

She'd denied it not very convincingly. Bruce Wayne was her last visitor. His handsome face looked sad and tired. He sat on a stool next to her bed. It seemed he didn't know what to say.

"Miss Quinzel, I'll be honest with you," he eventually said. "I may be able to do something with regard to your case, but you need to cooperate."

The blonde frowned at him.

"Do you think I'm guilty?" she inquired curiously.

"If you are then I'll be very disappointed."

So they sent Wayne to convince her to talk. She really wanted to say something, anything that would help them catch Joker just so she could be finally left alone. Harleen was tired of all those accusing stares as if she was no better than the clown himself, although she had paid the ultimate price of her own sanity.

"I can't tell you anyting,' Quinzel whispered. "I don't know where he is."

Bruce shook his head slightly. The man explained the offer there had been made for her. If she helped capturing Joker and succeeded, she would have a chance for parole. She'd be under surveillance to prevent from anything happening to her. Wayne's important friend would be involved, too. She guessed it was Batman. Comissioner Gordon was getting really desperate. There was only one problem - why her?

"He's kept you alive."

The young millionaire's infatuation with the Clown-Prince had baffled her right from their first meeting. It didn't make any sense, but when she glanced down his knuckles were bruised rather painfully. Wayne told her to think about it all and left. As soon as he was gone fat, salty tears fell down on her cheeks. She was making things up again. The medication they were giving her made her moody and hazy. Or maybe that was the symptom of the bipolar disorder she'd been diagnosed with.

She slept a lot, but woke up to a headache and nausea. Nightmares still invaded her mind, but Harleen got used to it. They didn't differ from each other too much. It was always that awful laugh that made her bloodshot eyes snap open abruptly. Calming her racing heart got easier with time.

Quinzel truly hated the hospital. The ugly, green wallpaper, the smell and bored expressions of the nurses sickened her. She wanted to leave that place as soon as possible. The Joker had hated the Asylum as well. He'd felt like a caged bird.

"You know how I got this beautiful smile?" he asked her one afternoon.

She obiously had had no idea and that had given him an excuse to avoid the doctor's questions about his oh so sad childhood.

"One sunny morning I woke up so, so, so thirsty and so, so, so bored. At that time I have been spending more time in this hole than out of it, so I thought to myself 'hell, even a madman needs vacation once in a while!' So, I pack up and go to this nice, warm country. And while on my trip I met an old friend, you see, we go way back and, can you believe it, she's never told me she had a kid."

He'd stopped talking for a second.

"But, but! The brat turned out to be Batpest's little birdie boy. Heh, what a coincidence! I say 'let's kill two birds with one stone!', heh heh... and kaboom! He was gone... Batsy got really mad, I've never seen him so riled up, but that was the point, right."

The Joker had cleared his throat, shifting in his seat.

"So you might be asking yourself one important question - why?"

"To establish your position?"

"No! No, no, no. I killed the brat so that righteous boob could kill me. He did beat me up, he's pretty good at it, I'll give him that."

"You still gained pleasure from it."

"Oh, believe me, toots. I enjoyed every second of it."

Harleen was caged and bored, but most of all, she was enraged. She had got hurt badly. What was stopping her from hitting back? The blonde wasn't interested in any deals, but if those idiots wanted to see her as a victim then fine. After agreeing to the offer she'd been transported to the Gotham Police Station. A buff guy had put cuffs on her. Comissioner Gordon was already waiting for her when she entered a small room with only a table and two chairs. They were left alone.

"Hello, miss Quinzel. I'm James Gor..."

"I know who you are," she interrupted him.

The man raised his brows and proceeded to present her what was expected from her. The whole operation was confidential. The official version of events was that Harleen was still recovering in a hospital as she had miraculously survived the Joker's ploy. Everything seemed quite simple. She was supposed to serve as bait for the clown, lead Batman to him, make sure he gates captured and get a few years off her sentence.

Quinzel was looking at Gordon with what could be described as admiration. She knew about Barbara, everyone did. The Joker had shot her and in result the girl had been left a cripple. It had been all over the news. Gordon had stepped away from duty during that time, too. Yet he still hadn't killed the clown because of his moral code. A rare occurence in today's world.

When they were finished the same buff guy came into the room to take her back to the hospital. She asked about the restrains on her wrists.

"Uncuff her," Comissioner ordered.

Then she got pushed into a black SUV. She rolled her eyes at the man's attitude. They drove to Diamond District. The fancy, tall buildings looked amazing. She wasn't used to that kind of lush neighborhoods. Truth be told, she never imagined living along rich people.

The car stopped near a skyscraper. Quinzel glanced at the men in the vehicle and shifted her legs. She was preparing to run. She had hospital slippers on and though her ankle was still bandaged she could move it around. If she got out immediately, she had a chance to outrun them. The area was quite crowded. The doctor exhaled slowly.

Now or never.

She pushed the door and started running. The men probbaly yelled after her, but she couldn't hear them over the street noise. She made it to a crossroad. Harleen's breath was calm, but it got disturbed when she felt a sharp pain in her shin followed by ringing in ears. She stumbled slightly. The entrance to Robinson Park was right before her. The blonde limped before finally tripping and falling on the ground. Her body rolled down a hill to eventually land on a pile of dry leaves. Harleen slowly descended into darkness as a figure was looming over her.


	18. Chapter 18

It was raining. Droplets were gently hitting the window, creating a relaxing sound. Quiet humming matched the murmur outside. An idyllic picture she'd stopped dreaming about. A white ceiling welcomed her teary eyes. It was slightly blurry. There wasn't any pain burning her limbs and she could move her fingers and toes, which was a good sign. The young woman turned her head to the side. The blue wall was littered with various types of plants sitting on wooden shelves. Each one of them had a colourful pot. There were vines on the wall and floor, hugging every possible surface, creeping up to the ceiling to grow out even further. A sweet scent had found its way into Harleen's nostrils. It was too strong and she wrinkled her nose.

She'd been running away from those crooks and got thrown into another hole. It was not a hospital. Though there was a tube stuck to her arm again. Someone had saved her.

The humming stopped and Harleen saw a woman. She had bright, red hair flowing down her shoulders. Her body was slim and curvy. When she turned to face the blonde, blinking her green eyes it all became clear.

Posion Ivy, formerly known as Pamela Isley, was standing in front of Harleen with an unreadable expression. She cocked her head to the side and watched the other woman intensely.

"Hello, doctor Quinzel."

Ivy, who could kill a man with a single touch, had actually gone through the trouble of helping the psychiatrist. She held a grudge toward men, especially Batman, but every criminal in Gotham hated him, because he operated on fear. The Dark Knight lived in the shadows, no one could predict when or where he'd appear. Everybody was scared of him, both big fish like Falcone and insignificant thugs.

A human mind is easy to manipulate. To plant a concept, an idea that wasn't there is the first place, to make a person behave differently or act against his will without him noticing. Harleen had been aware of the clown's manipulations. The puppy eyes, flirtacious comments. Even then she'd follow every word he'd said, but not exactly because she wanted to. She loved the man, despite everyone labeling him as insane. He wasn't crazy. In conclusion, she'd done all of those things out of fear of losing the Joker. He was her anchor.

More importantly, how long has she been out?

"A couple of days," the red head said, fumbling with the drip tube. "It's New Year's eve."

Quinzel's eyes widened. She came back from New York five days before Christmas. Could time flow that fast? When she was in hospital it was all a blur, a collage of unpleasant images. She either slept through whole days or stared at the walls.

"Why am I here?"

"You stumbled into my home with policemen after you," Ivy yanked the tube out. "Care to explain what had you done to anger them?"

The blonde didn't respond stubbornly. With a gasp she sat up and gripped the bed frame tightly. Her glasses were laying on a table so she put them on her nose. Her vision became clear in an instant.

"You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," Ivy mumbled, as she was putting away the blankets. "I've managed to pull out the bullet, it didn't go too deep."

Quinzel's right leg was wrapped in white cloth, just below her knee. Her ankle was still bandaged, too. It didn't hurt, but it felt uncomfortable. Her muscles were numb, jelly-like. She was able to stand on her feet. It was a bit awkward. She was brought over to a room that resembled a kitchen. She was given a warm cup of tea and butter buns. The food was delicious so she finished eating pretty quickly.

It got dark quickly. Rain had been replaced with wet snow. The streets were slowly turning white. Ivy's place was warm and cozy. Harleen was covering herself with a scratchy blanket while the other woman was standing over her with crossed arms.

"You've been used and treated like trash. You're not going to do something about it?"

"What can I do?"

"Anything is better than hiding like a coward."

Harleen glared at Ivy with irritation, but the look the redhead had given her made the psychiatrist's heart flutter. There was a sense of understanding between the two women, as if they had met years ago, not days. They couldn't be called friends yet though.

When it came to mister J, being with him felt right. They completed each other. She unraveled the darkest parts of herself, thanks to him. She was a vicitim of her own theory, fortunately or unfortunately.

Harleen couldn't sleep that night. Fireworks were blasting on the black sky full of stars. As a child she loved to watch them, joined by Kathryn when the boys would be asleep in their Dbeds. Stitches on her shin had began to sting, but she didn't dare to get up.

As the night sky was starting to fade away, she decided Ivy was right.

For a few weeks the blonde had been rehabilitating her leg back to health. Her sprained ankle wasn't swollen anymore. The bullet wound was healing fast, there was no sigh of infection. Her tibia and fibula hadn't been damaged by the bullet. Harleen was exercising for a couple of hours everyday, trying not to strain herself. Few furniture had to act as support for her. At first it was quite difficult to even stand on the wounded leg, then she was able to walk the distance between the bed and wall.

Harleen had nowhere to go so she stayed with Ivy for the whole winter. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months. During that time the women got to know each other a little more. Ivy was a cold, calculating person. However, she was able to feel a sort of compassion for plants, less often for humans. Her mother used to love gardening before her tragic death. Pamela, as a young girl, watched her work in their small patio. It was her only good memory.

One windy day Ivy gave her a cup with a green substance in it. It was gooey and smelled strongly. Harleen had been taking all of the medication so far. That time she wasn't so sure if she wanted to consume what she was given.

"What is that?"

"You need to drink it, if you want to hang out with me," the redhead answered, smirking. "They don't call me Poison Ivy for no reason."

It tasted as horrible as it looked and there were chunks in it. The feeling of the substance going down her throat was bearable, but the burning sensation inside her stomach was awful. It felt as if her insides were being devoured by fire. She bent in half, grabbing her tummy. Ivy caressed the blonde's back.

"It's okay. Your immune system is adapting."

A week after that the Joker finally made his move.


	19. Chapter 19

Sarah Essen Gordon was dead.

It was definitely surprising to see Joker getting handcuffed and dragged into a police car with no sign of resistance. He was dragging his left leg, it was drenched with blood. He wasn't chuckling or sending kisses either. Her heart started beating faster at the sight of pixels in the TV showing the clown's face. That was the first time she saw him since Arkham. It seemed as if it had happened not so long ago.

There had been some rumors the Joker would hit soon. He'd wanted to get Batman's attention, of course. He'd been spotted near the old, abandoned orpahange. Supposedly dozens of toddlers had been put with him there, as Vicki Vale stated, being first on the site. No one knew how or who aided the clown, but the police was suspecting some individuals. The children were unharmed, but Sarah, who had been first to enter the bulding despite the orders, had been shot in the head.

Later on, the news stations were talking about the Joker's sudden disappearance. He'd vanished into thin air while being transported to Black Gate. The drivers and guards were dead, left in an empty vehicle by the road.

Sarah's burial would be held in two days.

Killing Essen was a form of releasing the pent up frustration and anger. The clown had been held at Arkham for many months, interviewed by several psychiatrists, given various mixes of medication he never needed and treated with ECT. His stunt had had to target Comissioner Gordon, the man who had sent him to the Asylum in the first place after Barbara had been left a cripple.

Surely, everybody was puzzled why the Prince of Crime hadn't struck earlier. New Year's Eve would be a perfect night to come back with a 'boom'.

The mixture Harleen had drunk turned out to shield her from toxins. Her leg had healed almost completely, but her mental health wasn't getting any better. There had been nights when she couldn't even close her eyes because of the eerie images and nightmares. She would cry silently, scared to move a muscle.

Training with Ivy made Quinzel feel as if she were back in high school, preparing for a championship. It was natural - jumping, avoiding punches, twisting her body to the limits. They had had to move the few furniture there was to make space. She wasn't feeling tired, although there was adrenaline pumping through her veins. She could finally breath.

Harleen wanted to go to her apartment to retrieve her belongings. Her car and gun were gone, but she needed to get the money. She was aware that the police had searched her palce or even contacted Barry. They may have found her notes, which troubled her.

Ivy walked with her through a tunnel that ended in the upper east side. She was surprised it existed at all. There were lights on the concrete walls, but they were dimmed. Ivy was carrying a large flashlight. The ground was wet. Water was dripping down the walls, making splashing sounds. It was quite cold there.

There was so much Harleen didn't know about Gotham. The city was ruled by criminals and since she was one of them, she had to learn how to play by their rules. If there were any rules. That shouldn't be a problem though. She was always able to change her shape to fit in. To her family she'd been an excellent student and a loving sister, to Guy she'd been a caring girlfriend and to Joker she'd been the naive doctor Quinzel. She could finally be herself and do whatever she wished.

She wouldn't have been here if Pamela hadn't saved her. Of course, she wasn't a good samaritanian, her actions weren't filled with sincerity and compassion. She was a cold blooded murderer fixated on her hatred toward human kind, which ignited after her father had killed her mother. Then why bother? Ivy had seen an opportunity. A scarred, heartbroken woman, who could be used as a weapon.

So when they approached the end of the tunnel, Harleen felt a bit awkward. They weren't exactly friends, but she was still grateful.

"Thank you," she said.

And that was it. Quinzel climbed up the rusty ladder and she was on her own. The lights blinded her, the fresh air filled her lungs. All of the colours looked vibrant and bright. The noise of the cars were making seemed too loud. The young woman was finally outside after all those months.

She started walking. The city hasn't changed at all. The streets were noisy and full of vehicles or pedestrians. Shops were open, welcoming any clients that stumbled upon a signboard. She could smell fresh pastries and corndogs. She passed a group of kids going home from school. One of the girls had pigtails similar to Jenny's.

On the left there were nicer looking apartment complexes. The white paint wasn't weathered, the brick walls were crimson and the windows had new, shiny frames. There was a young woman standing near the gate entrance. She was wearing elegant and expensive clothes. Her wide smile was directed at a man walking towards her.

Harleen was in front of her apartment building, at last. It wasn't as luxurious as the other one she'd seen previously, but it didn't look awful either. It was close to a skyscraper so most of the residents there were office workers with no children. Quinzel didn't want to enter from the front, that would be unwise. She vaguely recalled there were fire escape stairs in the back, where the dumpsters stood. She rounded up the corner to end up in a shabby alley. She'd pulled her hood tighter over her head because she passed two chatting men . After looking around and checking if there wasn't anybody around, the young doctor put her foot on railling's metal grid, grabbed the edge of the fence and pulled herself up with a soft grunt. She landed on her feet smoothly.

The area was fortunately secluded. The stairs looked quite rusty. She eyed the structure suspiciously, trying not to think about falling down if it would give up under the weight of her body. Quinzel took two steps back and leaped forward. The railling groaned, but there was no sign of it collapsing any time soon. The doctor started walking up the stairs to get to the window leading to her apartment. She was caught by surprise when she saw that it was cracked, as if someone had opened it to let fresh air in.

Harleen opened it comepletely and got inside her flat. Nothing looked different, the place was exactly the same as she'd left it all those months ago. She heard some rustling in her bedroom. A moment after a man appeared in the small living room. He was carrying a book in a gloved hand. He also had long, brown hair, a beard and was wearing a dirty coat. Although the facial hair threw her off there was no doubt the man was the one who'd taken her ID, the same one she'd met after buying a gun.

"You!", she hissed.

He noticed her then. His big, green eyes widened, but he made no move to escape. He put his arms up, as if he was surrendering when Harleen leaped to strike him. She stopped abruptly because she felt a tug at her hood. Then an arm was locked around her neck, pressing her body against another one. She could smell cigarette smoke. Her first thought was to break free, but she didn't want to make any noise to avoid being seen here. She grimaced, glaring at the Coat Guy.

"Hi, there," he said and smiled.


	20. Chapter 20

Harleen was walking hurriedly with a metal box under her armpit. It was quite heavy as it contained all of her savings. She wanted to leave that godforsaken city as fast as possible, and most importantly, to get away from those two lunatics who'd been snooping around her apartment, trying to steal from her. She would figure something out, maybe contact Barry, lie low for a while.

She's had enough. She was sick of that city and its people. Everything that had happened to her was nothing but a series of horrors and nightmares. The young woman felt so tired of it all. There was only misery left, a terrifying ghost following her every step and laughing at her unhappiness.

Suddenly her arm was being pulled, startling her. She almost dropped the box. It was the coat guy, he was gripping her tightly and his face was flushed. He'd run after her.

"Please, wait," he rasped.

People had started to stare at them, of course, unable to resist the temptation. Harleen pulled away and tried to cover her face with her hoodie. With an annoyed huff Quinzel glared at the man in front of her. What would she have to do to get rid of him?

"Please, just... let's talk."

She turned on her heel and began walking again. She heard the guy scoff behind her. He soon caught up with her. They were treading side by side, not uttering a word. When she glanced at him, his lips were slightly curving upwards in shit-eating grin. The man started talking then without caring if the young woman was listening.

"Y'know, I thought I'd never see you here, or at all actually. You were gone, supposedly dead. You probably have no idea about the crap they've said about you. Even your family was involved," he chuckled to himself.

Harleen faltered. Was it true? Had it been Barry? Did Charlie and Luke know? She hated feeling like that, hopless and clueless. Her heart filled up with even more rage.

"Shit had hit the fan even before mister J came back," he continued. "News spread pretty fast, we were all ecstatic. The King was about to take back his city! But, heh, he was completely broke!"

While the Joker had been rotting in Arkham some of his henchmen had taken over his cash, territory and resources. They'd thought, "this is the last time I ever see the crazy son of a bitch." Frost had assembled a crew of the most trusted men. On New Year's eve there had been a huge welcoming party for the Joker with lots of pretty girls and boys, and alcohol. That night the clown had skinned Monty and with the help of Croc's men he'd got rid of the unfaithful ones.

"Poor Monty! He didn't suspect a thing, that dumb motherfucker," the coat guy sighed. "At least I took his car."

Harleen stopped dead in her tracks and turned to him. He looked pensive as he was scratching his chin.

"Look, I really don't care."

"Oh, I know. I did get your attention though, didn't I?" he answered smugly. When she rolled her eyes, he smiled. "I have a proposition for you."

He was just about to rob her and now he wanted to make deals? Quinzel stubbornly kept qiuet and he frowned.

"I have a family, too. I've been trying to escape this hellhole for what seems like forever. Why do you think Frost is still stuck by the clown's side? He's scared, we're all are and he's feeding off of it."

The young woman shuddered. What was he trying to say? That he wanted to eliminate the Joker? Many had tried. He was like a disease spreading quickly and vastly, difficult to get rid of. He'd infected the whole city, he controled the shadows looming over everyone. He had eyes and ears everywhere. You were under constant observation. Some put their faith in Batman, some laughed at the vigilante's no-killing rule. They would not be able to defeat the clown, not by themselves. They would need an army, but who was going to agree to this ordeal?

"Pretty much everyone wants his head on a stick, the police, the mafia... We just need to guide them in the right direction, spread the word. And besides," the man folded his arms. "Who's gonna do it if not you?"

Harleen snorted impatiently. "What's with the sudden change of heart?"

The coat guy only shrugged and started to walk away. He crossed the street not caring about the passing cars honking at him. The man came up to a familiar black cadillac and leaned onto it.

"Oh, and by the way!" he called as he was putting on his beanie. He then pointed at the car. There was a person sitting in it. "Name's Javi and this brooding gentleman's Scott!"

For some strange reason Quinzel ended up inside the vehicle with those creeps. She was sitting in the backseat. The car stank of cigarette smoke and there was a big leather bag lying next to her. She didn't want to know what was inside of it. Some old school song was playing on the radio, but the young woman couldn't recognize it. She was holding onto her box tightly the whole ride.

They stopped near an old warehouse. They were close to the coast as she heard seagulls screeching and the noise of waves hitting the docks. There were grey heavy clouds in the sky. She shivered as breeze caressed her cheeks. Grinning Javi led the way into the building and down a flight of metal stairs. It was damp and cold down there. When the young woman turned to look behind her, she noticed Scott wasn't there.

Their destination turned out to be a room at the end of the long narrow hall. Javi unlocked the door with a key. It was quite spacious and it included a kitchen, a bedroom and, presumably, a bathroom. A makeshift home.

The odd thing about that place was the furniture. Some of it looked expensive and the awful background contrasted greatly with it. Harleen placed the box on a wooden table. It had beautiful carvings on its legs, a skillful hand had had to make them. She moved her fingers on the table's surface, it felt like satin. The dresser in the corner was an antique, a few of the paintings leaning on a dirty wall had golden frames, the chandelier hanging from the ceiling seemed to be from another period. All of those objects must have been stolen.

Javi had taken off his dirty coat and his hat and was staring at Quinzel intensely. He was younger than her, altough it was not easy to tell his age because of his beard. He had bright green eyes with thick lashes. He was a young handsome man and Harleen wondered how he'd got to this point. They were standing and looking at each other awkwardly until he spoke.

"I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad you're glad."

"You don't trust me, do you?" he asked and stood next to her.

"Absolutely not."


	21. Chapter 21

Harleen woke up with a sharp pain in her left temple and a stiff body. She was lying on a soft bedding and her legs were covered with some thin fabric. She opened her eyes. It was dark, she couldn't see much. Irregular shapes were creeping in the shadows, forcing her teary eyes to blink a few times. Then she smelled that familiar flowery scent of the cheap fabric softener her mother always used. Quinzel was in her bedroom.

Now that her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness she could scan the room. The curtains had been drawn so that was why there was little light. The old wooden dresser was standing in the left corner, lots of plush toys lying on it and a laundry basket close by. To the right, there was a desk cluttered with textbooks, pencils and crumpled papers. Posters were hanging above it on the wall. Three small beds had been crammed into the room, each one for Harleen, Barry and Luke. The baby crib that had been bought for Kathryn was Charlie's now. The eldest daughter had her own bedroom.

Harleen sighed and blinked again drowsily. Luke had climbed onto her bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The girl smiled while reaching for the lamp on the tiny bedside table. His curly auburn hair was dishevelled, there was a red print on his round cheek. He looked sleepy just like her. Quinzel's eyes started to water, her vision getting blurry, and she had to rub her eyelids. When she opened her eyes, she was sitting in a car.

Her ears felt clogged, sounds were muffled, as if she were submerged beneath the surface of the water. She could faintly hear a familiar song. The young woman slowly raised her arms and put her palms against her temples. Her head was about to explode, she had shut her eyes tightly. The song was getting louder. It was a distorted version of "Just for tonight" by The Chiffons. Kathryn had listened to it on her walkman. The younger Quinzel daughter had been able to steal it and listen to the cassettes on few occasions.

Harleen reluctantly had put down her hands. She was the only one in the car. There were no keys in sight; she had pushed against the door handles and they unlocked with a soft click. She'd immediately shut them with a jerky motion. A kid passing by shot her an odd look, making her cringe. Then she looked down, her safety belt was not fastened.

The woman reached for the glove compartment and opened it. There wasn't much inside - a crushed pack of Marlboros, a pair of leather gloves, and some papers. She had turned around to look at the back seat and saw a pile of dirty clothes tossed on the seat. Suddenly she heard a knock on the car window near her ear. She jumped up startled and glared sharply at a figure standing next to the car. It was Scott. He crooked a finger beckoning to her.

Harleen gulped hesitant to move. The man just stood there staring at her with his blank grey eyes. She had no choice but to come out of the vehicle. She got out, stumbled on her shaky legs to be grabbed by Scott. He held her arm tightly so when Quinzel regained balance, she had to pry herself free from his grip. If he didn't look away so quickly, she'd be able to see a flash of concern in his gaze.

"Let's go, girl," he mumbled and pushed her forward slightly.

Harleen stood before a diner, which was placed at a crossing of streets filled with various restaurants, stores and other establishments. There were quite a lot of people hurrying down the sidewalks, the area looked busy. It was probably middle of the week. The diner had big wide windows, through which she could see people inside. Above them, there was the green awning that acted as a sign for the name of the restaurant on it. The place did not look old school from the outside. Maybe besides the signs that read 'Happy Easter'. She heard the car doors being shut and seconds after Scott appeared by her side.

They entered the diner. A gust of hot air hit her, making her sigh. The inside was homey and inviting. The colours were warm, an orange hue present wherever you looked, creating a halo of much needed artificial sunlight. The ceiling was angled and lamps were hanging from it in rows so that the lighting was laid-out evenly. There was a long counter with bar stools, booths and individual tables pushed to the windows. The walls had been painted a rather ugly shade of green, which did not fit the linoleum floor. The young woman could smell the stench of oil of fries and burgers. She wondered if they were selling milkshakes in long glasses with a ridiculous amount of whipped cream.

She had been pushed to sit in one of the booths in the far corner. Scott sat in the opposite seat and took out a red pack of cigarettes just to toss it on the table before him with a resigned sigh. He was fidgeting while sneaking glances at something or someone behind Quinzel. She turned her head and saw a woman behind the counter drilling holes in Scott with her sharp eyes. She did not look pleased. Just as the psychiatrist was turning back, a person slid onto the seat next to Scott.

She had bushy, dark hair that covered her round, freckled face like a curtain. She had piercings - Quinzel was able to notice that only because the girl tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She was thin. The beige shirt she was wearing hung on her body, making it look as if it was a few sizes too big for her. She also seemed quite young. Something about her felt familiar to Quinzel for some reason.

It appeared the girl was a friend of Scott's, or at least that's how she behaved. She was sitting very close to him, their arms were touching it obviously made the man uncomfortable as he shifted a little to his left away from her. She seemed to notice none of it. A big smile spread on her thin lips.

"Took ya long enough!", she exclaimed.

Scott had mumbled something incoherent under his breath and looked away, then started to twist his fingers. It was quite entertaining to watch them both. They were complete opposites. Scott was a brooding, grumpy man unable to communicate with others or show his emotions whereas the girl represented everything that was connected with warmth, kindness and forwardness.

They had begun to speak. She asked the man a few innocent questions, to which he responded shortly. To some stranger observing this conversation unfolding it might seem like two old friends catching up, but to Harleen it looked completely different. The girl's body language was obvious; she was, in fact, beaming. Scott had to be aware of the affection toward him and he clearly did not reciprocate her feelings. The girl finally turned her eyes to Quinzel.

"I hear you're not local, huh?"

Harleen felt a strange jab at the back of her head. She was supposed to reply now, but for some reason, words just couldn't leave her mouth. The current situation felt familiar when it actually shouldn't. She couldn't recall ever being in this diner or meeting this teenager, but something was off. The woman didn't have a chance to answer though.

"Nancy ain't so happy with you right now," the girl said to Scott but kept looking at Harleen. "Thought you said you'd be here on Friday."

"Something came up."

"Somethin'? Javi givin' ya hell again?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "Not now, Morgan."

The girl clicked her tongue. She had grimaced and her pretty face got hidden in her locks when she ducked her head. She got up from her seat and hastily left, disappearing behind the white door close to the bar. Scott leaned over the table with a heavy sigh.

"Go with her. I'll be back in a few hours," he put a cigarette in his chapped lips. "Then I'll teach you how to shoot like I promised."

The stench of smoke irritated Harleen's nostrils. The waitress, Nancy, yelled at him but he purposefully ignored her. Just as she was about to approach their table, Morgan came out of the kitchen. Scott and she went to the right, past the booths and two vending machines, and exited through the back door into an area where garbage bins were. The doctor was right behind them. The man said something to the girl, but Harleen couldn't hear it because a car alarm started blaring nearby. He then jumped over a fence a disappeared behind a corner.

Morgan turned to her. She was smiling. "Nice seeing ya again."


	22. Chapter 22

If Harleen had to describe Scott in one word, it would be 'cautious'. The man was constantly on guard, but not jittery or jumpy, just ready for whatever might come. He was perceptive, his eyes swiftly moving from one person to another and observing without a word. He spoke very little, he'd occasionally respond with a grunt, as if he didn't want to get distracted.

Scott thought of every single tiny element, calculating the odds, trying to find all of the possible outcomes. He seemed to have everything planned and thought through. Harleen was wondering why would the man leave her alone with that girl. He was either stupid or naive.

The psychiatrist was standing in the living room of the flat she had been brought to. The room was rather small and packed with furniture that may have been bought in a thrift shop. The cushions on two small couches looked old and had a few dark spots. The wooden coffee table had several kinds of books and notebooks tossed on top of it, some of them were probably supposed to sit on the bookshelf to the left. There were posters of some popular films hanging on the white walls. The room was cluttered but clean and well kept.

Morgan was running around the apartment with a phone wedged between her ear and shoulder. She was mumbling to herself angrily. Eventually, the girl tossed it onto the couch and went to the kitchen. When she came back to the living room, Harleen was still standing in the same spot motionless.

"The heck you doin'?", she asked, confused. "Sit down!"

The woman did as she was told. She was given a glass of what looked like orange juice. The girl made a comment about Harleen's posture. She was tense, yes. Now she was sure she'd met this teenager before. Should Quinzel ask her about it? Should she be direct? No, that would only scare her away. Although the woman slumped a little and relaxed her body it made her look even more awkward.

"Scotty told me you were a little weird, but that's the understatement of the year."

Harleen couldn't help it. At least Scott didn't talk so much, same with Ivy. Morgan was too friendly, too sweet. It felt unnatural as if she were trying to convince the psychiatrist.

"Just so you know," the girl propped her pale face on her palm. "Your little uprising? It's a mistake."

"And why is that?" Harleen spoke up for the first time, truly curious.

Morgan shrugged evasively and turned away not sure what to say. Perhaps she knew even more about this unfortunate ordeal then the doctor had expected, but why would she be involved with a mercenary group? Why would this little girl care about taking down one of the most dangerous criminals in Gotham?

"It's gonna end like it always does," the girl slid her thumb across her throat from ear to ear. "But you're here so I reckon you already know that."

The phone rang suddenly so Morgan sprung from her seat to snatch it and lock herself in the bathroom. Her muffled voice could be heard from behind the white, wooden door. She sounded frantic, nervous. She was furious with whomever she was speaking to.

Quinzel took the chance to look around a little more around the apartment. She had put the glass filled with now warm orange juice, then she approached an entrance table. A bunch of photos in golden frames were standing on it next to the violet vase with some pretty flowers. A child was present on all of them.

It was an infant with big, blue eyes, plump cheeks and fair hair. On the picture standing in the middle it was lying on its back sleeping, on other two the baby was in some elderly woman's arms looking right at the camera. Harleen immediately thought her mother cradling Nicky with a happy smile.

Next, the woman walked towards the kitchen, but couldn't find anything interesting there. A battered refrigerator, cups and plates, an old microwave, nothing out of place. She scanned the area behind the window in the living room. The sky was murky, the sun had been covered by the ugly clouds. A few people were walking down the street minding their own business, not aware of what was about to come. The weather was still rainy and cold. Usually, it got warm around May in Gotham, but even then the nights were chilly.

Quinzel then moved towards the bedroom. The door to that room was slightly ajar. She leaned on the door frame and peeked inside, hoping the girl would keep the phone conversation going for a little bit longer. The doctor walked into the room hesitantly. Walking on the plush carpet under her feet felt like stepping on clouds, there was a sweet, flowery fragrance in the air, the furniture was white. The walls were a light shade of blue that reminded the woman of clear skies in summer. Next, to the small bed, there was a baby crib with pink blankets and a tiny pillow in a shape of a heart. On the other side of the room there stood a huge wardrobe and near it, there were two shelves with trinkets, toys and even more photos on it.

Harleen took one of the pictures to look at it closely. It depicted two males and one female smiling widely. Behind them, there was a cornfield and a bright sky. The doctor guessed it was Morgan in the photograph, or rather the younger version of her. The boys were tanned and taller than her. Quinzel turned the photo frame around and took out the picture out of it. She carelessly put the frame back on the shelf, more focused on the piece of paper in her hand. For some reason, it seemed important, but she couldn't explain why exactly.

The woman folded it in half and pushed it into the back pocket of her jeans. She then frowned because another paper had been stuffed there. After taking it out, she had to smooth it out as it was very crumpled. It had watermarks as well so trying to make out what had been written on it would be difficult. She squinted slightly, she could see a couple of words and a string of numbers. It read, 'Tommy Alamo 445 255 403'.

"What the hell are you doin'?"

Harleen jumped out startled. Morgan was standing in the door frame frowning.

Suddenly, everything made a little more sense. Maybe the teenager didn't know as much as the psychiatrist had thought? Maybe they were both being kept in the dark? What if Scott had not been able to predict the state Harleen would find herself in? Or he had done exactly that and this paper had to be a form of insurance. Whoever this Tommy person was, she had to see him soon.

The woman balled her palm into a fist, hiding her only possible way of figuring things out.


	23. Chapter 23

The atmosphere was definitely tense. Scott still hadn't turned up. The doctor had thought about meeting this Tommy by herself, but she'd wait a little longer. The truth was, she'd stayed because of the girl.

Scott was probably already dead and whoever had gone after him would not hesitate to put a bullet between the girl's beautiful eyes. The older woman knew how to take care of herself, unlike the teenager. Quinzel had to keep her calm, just in case Scott had told her something. Any tiny piece of information would help.

For some time she had been trying to recall the events before the meet up with Morgan in the diner. She remembered being at the docks with Javier's group, seeing all those new faces, but nothing substantial. It was really frustrating - not being able to control one's mind. How could she perceive the reality if it was so warped, so distorted? She would be looking through another person's eyes everytime she woke up abruptly after the period of 'unconsciousness' and every single thing would feel unreal. Her brain had holes in it and she was unable to fill them in. She craved the much-needed reassurance that she was still herself and not a phantom ready to be blown away by the weakest gust of wind. If one's mind is taken away, there won't be anything left but a sad, empty shell.

Her shell, her body, was failing her, too. Quinzel couldn't remember when she'd last eaten. She didn't actually feel hungry, but her stomach was empty and it caused an uncomfortable sensation inside of her she was unable to ignore. She had lost weight, her limbs seemed heavier, she would find herself shivering even though she wasn't cold, her sleeping patterns were irregular.

A few more days had passed without any word from Scott. It was as if the man had disappeared into thin air and Quinzel began to doubt herself. Perhaps he had planned all of this? Then she tried to find an explanation for his actions, but couldn't find any. Again, the woman battled with her own thoughts making her even more frustrated.

Morgan didn't seem to be bothered. She wasn't attending school just as the doctor had guessed. She was mostly ignoring Quinzel when she wasn't out. The girl got up in the afternoons, had a quick breakfast and left for the rest of the day and night. Harleen had her own speculations, but she didn't want to pry. What interested her more was why the girl was of such interest to thugs.

Harleen heard knocking on the door in the middle of the night. Morgan had left hours ago. The sky was inky blue with no signs of stars. The few lights visible in the windows of some of the apartment buildings served as the constellations. There was some traffic, but not much.

The woman had turned off the lights so the whole apartment was pitch black. The dark was a remedy against the headaches that were persistently attacking her. She had closed her bloodshot eyes to focus on the task of relaxing her mind, smothering all of her anxieties. She could then swim in the endless, black void of space, think of what-ifs and numerous possibilities. The scenarios spread out like a ripple on the surface of the water, fading into nothing the longer she lingered on them. The knock disturbed it all.

Harleen stopped breathing, blood was loudly pumping in her ears, and slowly raised her eyelids. She blinked a few times to adjust her eyesight to the darkened room, slid her hand down her leg and gripped the small knife squeezed between her ankle and boot. As she crept toward the door, a ridiculous thought crossed her mind for a second, what if it was Scott?, but it disappeared in an instant because Harleen pressed her cheek to the cold surface of the door to look through the peephole. Two males were standing in the hallway.

"C'mon, doll! Open up!"

It seemed that Morgan had fallen into some trouble. The little girl had more secrets than Harleen had imagined.

Quinzel could face them both, but with the setting they were in, it could prove to be rather difficult. She didn't want to place the attention of the tenants, and eventually the police on herself. Somewhere at the back of her head, she craved to be reckless, to beat up those two thugs on the other said of the door, maybe even spill some blood.

The doorknob turned sharply. "Kitty!"

Reluctantly, the psychiatrist took a couple of steps back and stood still for a while, listening to the noises the men were making as if debating if she should stay or not. She tilted her head, imagining how sweet snapping their necks would sound while they thrashed like wild animals. Deep in her thoughts, she turned and walked stiffly toward the bedroom. A delicious shiver passed her body as she slipped into the small space of Morgan's wardrobe. The thugs had begun to meddle with the door lock and got inside, not able to notice Quinzel slipping away quietly.

Harleen's lips twitched slightly. Maybe she could have some fun after all.

After a short period of time, she heard the door squeaking and the light got turned on. A bulky, overcoat-clad figure entered the room. The man had mud splattered all over his dark pants, she noticed. He was leaving dark footprints behind him unknowingly, soiling the pure surface under his feet. He walked with a slight limp, dragging his left leg awkwardly. He stopped to look around, but he didn't touch anything. Then the man turned his back to her, facing the bed.

Harleen swept her eyes over his broad frame. She could use his injured leg against him to force him to his knees and in doing so preventing him from catching her in his muscular arms. She could also let him face her and use the heel of her palm to strike up under his nose although the side of the neck would be a bigger target, where both the carotid artery and jugular vein were located.

She wasn't sure of her strength even though she had used her new abilities during training with Poison Ivy. However, that had been different - the women hadn't wanted to hurt each other intentionally. Quinzel's body had seemed brand new and her senses sharper. She still remembered how she'd sent Ivy flying into the wall after throwing a punch at her.

The knife she was holding in her cold hand was digging into her skin painfully. With a delicious shudder and deep sigh, she pushed the wardrobe door open. The woman's heart was beating so hard as if it wished to burst right through her chest. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she moved soundlessly toward the clueless thug. She stood right before his back, still clutching the knife tightly. Quinzel's eyes were at the level of his shoulder blades and she could see every dirty spot on the coat he was wearing.

Harleen whistled quietly but gave the man no chance to react because she forcefully kicked the back of his knee, sending him onto the floor. Next, she jabbed her elbow into the side of his neck, making him groan. The thug was now on his side and he tried to grab Harleen's foot. She used her agility to jump away from his grip. He reached into his coat while attempting to get up, but Harleen kicked the man in the face so hard blood started seeping out of his nose. He wasn't unconscious though. The man wailed in pain when she pushed her knife right into his shoulder. His friend couldn't hear him as she pressed her palm against his mouth, stifling any sounds coming out of him. The psychiatrist frowned when she felt something wet on her skin - the thug was crying. She quickly got up and knocked the man out with her boot. She also took his gun he'd tried to grab earlier. It had a silencer.

"Sam, what the fuck?!" the other man yelled. "I swear to God, if you're doing some stupid shit again-"

He was about to enter the bedroom, but Quinzel pulled the trigger. The gun made a dull click and the guy fell to the ground like a ragdoll. There was a tiny red dot on his forehead. His face was frozen in an ugly expression of surprise and anguish, his eyes were wide open, his mouth had formed a grimace that let her see his yellow teeth.

The thug that she had struck in the face woke up after some time. While he had been out Harleen had dragged him to the kitchen and put his lifeless body in a chair. She had used grey duct tape to bind his legs and arms. When the man began to stir awake, she kneeled in front of him.

"Hey, it's alright," she whispered slowly. "Stay calm."

He might have got a concussion, she wasn't sure, and his nose was broken. He could be feeling confused, or unable to concentrate. The key was to keep him relaxed - she didn't want him to become easily upset or anxious. The man blinked rapidly and grunted. He probably had a bad headache.

Quinzel kept her voice down. "Do you feel dizzy?"

"What?" he mumbled.

"It's okay, it'll pass."

He didn't recognize her, it seemed. He had slumped and his head fell onto his chest. The woman at first thought he passed out again, but another strange noise left his mouth. He shifted his body to realise he couldn't move, so he started squirming in his chair. He asked questions frantically in his slurred tone. Harleen almost felt bad for him.

"You were looking for Morgan, yes?" she stopped his ramblings. "Why?"

It took him a while to construct a full sentence. "She was supposed to be at the club tonight."

"Which club?"

He ignored her. "Where's Ray?"

Harleen pointed her thumb at the body of his friend. It was sitting on another chair in front of the thug. Its arms were hanging loosely by its sides with its legs spread wide. The same awful, terrifying expression was still on the man's pale face. Quinzel had had some trouble with placing his limp corpse in a semi-natural pose. Eventually, she had given up and left him be.

The thug whimpered, still thrashing. "What the-"

Harleen clicked her fingers to get his attention and repeated her question in a sweet voice, but he didn't budge. His eyes were looking at her with such contempt she couldn't help but stretch her pink lips in a smirk as she pushed a rag into his mouth. His muffled screams were like a symphony to her ears, like balm to her aching soul. The sun was just rising when Quinzel curled up on the couch with a pleased sigh.


End file.
